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TRUTH  DEXTER 


TRUTH   DEXTER 


BY 


SIDNEY    McCALL 


AUTHOR    OF    "THE    BREATH    OF    THE    GODS 


ILLUSTRATED    EDITION 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 

1906 


Copyright,  /(?()/,  /(?O<5, 
BY  LITTLE,   BROWN,   AND  COMPANY. 


All  rig/its   reserved 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,     CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


PUBLISHER'S   NOTE 

THE  continued  favor  extended  to  "  Truth  Dexter " 
since  its  original  publication  has  suggested  the  present 
edition,  which  is  printed  from  entirely  new  type,  and 
illustrated  with  a  series  of  pictures  by  Alice  Barber 
Stephens,  who  has  happily  portrayed  the  lovable  hero- 
ine. The  text  of  the  story  remains  unchanged.  It 
may  not  be  amiss  to  remark  that  recent  events  have 
shown  that  the  opinions  expressed  regarding  the  cour- 
age of  the  Japanese  were  not  unwarranted,  and  the 
alliance  between  England  and  Japan  which  Craighead 
advocated  is  an  accomplished  fact. 


2228964 


FOREWORD 

THE  novel,  "  Truth  Dexter,"  was  composed  substantially 
as  at  present  published,  during  the  year  1897.  The  time 
chosen  for  its  action  was  the  close  of  President  Cleve- 
land's second  administration.  The  conversations  of  the 
middle  chapters,  with  Lord  Gayrock,  embody  opinions 
which  were  already  strongly  felt  by  the  author  before 
the  war  with  Spain  and  more  recent  complications  in  the 
East  made  some  of  them  appear  strikingly  prophetic. 
Though  the  whole  work  has  since  undergone  much  re- 
vision hi  detail,  it  has  been  thought  best  to  leave  the 
political  discussion  in  its  original  form ;  for  any  attempt 
to  strengthen  the  arguments  of  Craighead  by  reference 
to  the  exciting  events  of  the  last  three  years  could  only 
have  obscured  the  action  of  the  story.  The  author  pre- 
fers the  book  to  remain  a  picture  of  feelings  and  relations 
really  subsisting  between  North  and  South  just  before 
that  crisis  in  our  history  which  brought  the  two  sections, 
let  us  hope  forever,  into  a  common  enthusiasm  for  a 
common  national  cause. 

SIDNEY  McCALL. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  BRASS  BUDDHA  GRINS 1 

II.  OVER  THE  RUBICON 13 

III.  THE  TRACK  OF  THE  CENTIPEDE 22 

IV.  FIRE-ROSES 30 

V.  THE  HEROINE  AT  BREAKFAST 37 

VI.  A  REJECTED  FORTUNE 44 

VII.  A  TRAGEDY  AND  A  HERO 54 

VIII.  WHO  SAID  "  JEANNE  D'ARC  "? 71 

IX.  AT  BAY 90 

X.  A  BELATED  HONEYMOON 106 

XL  THREE  DUETS  AND  A  TRIO 121 

XII.  AN  EXPERIMENT  UNDER  GLASS 140 

XIII.  TRUTH  MAKES  A  MISTAKE 156 

XIV.  MIGRATORY  BIPEDS 164 

XV.  BAITED  WITH  A  LIVE  LORD 175 

XVI.  THE  PASSING  OF  THE  ANGLO-SAXON    .     .     .  194 

XVII.  HIGH-TIDE 211 

XVIII.  THE  DAWNING  OF  TRUTH 221 

XIX.  THE  FIFTH  ROOM 232 

XX.  SUNSHINE 243 

XXI.  LILITH 257 

XXII.  THE  SCOURGE 266 

XXIII.  MUSIC   THAT   DID   NOT   SOOTHE      .       .       .  278 


x  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV.  FAREWELLS 288 

XXV.  IN  THE  WOODS 303 

XXVI.  THE  GOOD  AND  FAITHFUL  SERVANT    .     .     .  310 

XXVII.  SECRETS  REVEALED 318 

XXVIII.  ANNUNCIATION 328 

XXIX.  THE  LAST  GRIN  OF  THE  BUDDHA  ....  335 

XXX.  CONCLUSION 354 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  Before  her  sat  an  audience  of  three  dogs  "      .      Frontispiece 

"  Lifted  her  head  and  confronted  Craighead  with 

something  like  defiance " Page    45 

" He  had  seen  that  face  before  !     But  where?"     .       "        88 
"  She  was  dying  to  kiss  him  and  call  him  '  father  "        "       124 

"Falling  on  her  knees  in  the  sand,  she  gazed  up 

into  his  rigid  face  " "      217 

"  Van  read  aloud  each  step  of  progress,  and  Truth 

listened  with  ears  and  eyes  and  parted  lips  "       "      249 

"'Mrs.  Wiley,'  she  began,  in  her  soft,  high-bred 
voice,  '  if  you  desire  to  be  my  friend,  you  must 
not  speak  in  this  way  of  my  husband ' '  .  .  "  2G2 

"  Something  in  the  old  lady's  shining  eyes  made 

Truth  drop  her  own " "      331 

The  full-page  illustrations  from  drawings  by  Alice  Barber  Stephens, 
with  a  vignette  for  the  titlepage  by  Jessie  Willcox  Smith 


TRUTH    DEXTER 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  BRASS  BUDDHA   GRINS 

"  OH,  you  're  going  away,  on  business,  to  the  South ! 
That  will  mend  matters.  Gossip,  likely  enough,  will 
forget  all  about  us  before  you  return.  There  's  always 
something  happening." 

With  a  little  exaggerated  sigh  of  relief,  she  threw  her- 
self back  among  the  gilt-embroidered  cushions.  "  When 
do  you  start?" 

Her  visitor,  a  stern  and  handsome  man  of  about 
thirty-five,  seemed  to  resent  a  situation  which  gave  his 
departure  such  suspicious  interest.  He  turned  his  face 
until  it  showed  a  sharp  profile,  and  fixed  his  gaze  upon 
a  fat,  hybrid  Buddha  of  new  brass,  which  squatted  in 
an  opposite  corner.  Without  changing  this  attitude  he 
answered :  — 

"  Orchid,  you  are  too  clever  to  think  that  I  am  to  be 
treated  like  a  school-boy.  My  stay  may  include  but  a 
very  few  days.  The  issue  you  affect  to  raise  is  in  no 
way  settled  by  my  trip.  I  insist  upon  knowing  just 
what  you  mean  by  this  ambiguous  plea." 

A  pair  of  long  eyes  glinted  narrowly  at  him  across 
the  divan.  They  had  the  effect  of  green  sea-water  over 
gray  rock.  Craighead  was  aware  of  the  look,  but  made 
no  sign.  At  length,  feeling  that  the  constrained  silence 
was  becoming  ridiculous,  he  turned.  The  mysterious 
eyes  fell  quickly,  but  not  before  he  had  caught  their 
sparkle  of  excitement.  He  rose,  as  if  stung  into  motion, 
but  she  took  no  notice  of  his  tentative  farewell ;  and  he 
stood,  hesitant  for  a  moment,  with  angry  eyes  upon  her. 

"I  insist  upon  an  answer,  Mrs.  Wiley!  " 

1 


2  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"Don't  stand  there  glowering,"  she  cried.  "You 
are  not  an  executioner  —  yet.  Let  us  talk  it  over 
rationally." 

"To  think  of  reasoning  with  a  woman  would  be  a 
paradox,"  he  retorted. 

"With  most  women,  perhaps.  But  remember  what 
a  teacher  in  logic  I've  had." 

He  reseated  himself,  unwillingly.  She  laughed,  then, 
with  a  sudden  impulsive  gesture,  leaned  forward,  and 
raised  to  his  a  bewitching,  pleading  face. 

"  You  don't  want  to  get  me  talked  about,  now,  do 
you,  Van?" 

Craighead  regarded  her.  "I  am  not  prepared  to  say 
that  1  do  not.  Have  I  done  anything  to  deserve  it?  If 
so,  you  must  have  foreseen  that  possibility  when  you 
insisted  upon  my  visits." 

"Adam!"  she  exclaimed.  "The  woman  tempted 
me — !  I  loathe  Adam.  Can  the  nineteenth  century 
produce  no  deeper  chivalry?" 

Craighead  lifted  his  eyes  again.  "  That 's  the  modern 
woman  in  a  nutshell!  She  claims  everything  that 
belongs  by  right  to  man,  all  of  his  privileges  and  most 
of  his  vices;  yet,  when  consequences  threaten,  she 
clamors  for  his  chivalry  and  protection.  It 's  time  for 
men  to  bring  this  farce  to  an  end." 

Orchid  threw  back  her  head  with  a  laugh  that  shook 
off  his  reproof  like  drops  of  bright  dew. 

"  Evidently  it  would  be  time  wasted  to  look  for  those 
lofty  sentiments  in  one  Van  der  Weyde  Craighead. 
But  if  you  don't  care  whether  I  'm  talked  about  or  not, 
that  makes  it  all  the  more  necessary  for  me  to  look  out 
for  myself.  Don't  you  see  ?  " 

Her  listener  scowled,  but  did  not  reply. 

"  Who  's  not  answering  now  ?  "  she  cried,  with  the 
same  good-humored  brightness.  "Don't  look  so  cross! 
You  couldn't  possibly  think,  Van  dear,  that  I  would  be 
willing  to  give  you  up  altogether!  " 

She  nestled  back  slowly  among  her  favorite  cushions, 
and  waited.  A  coil  of  burning  incense  wrote  gray 


THE  BRASS  BUDDHA  GRINS     3 

hieroglyphics  upon  the  silence  of  the  room.  Above  her 
hung  a  great  carved  ostrich  egg,  arid,  near  it,  a  Vene- 
tian lamp  of  fretted  iron-work.  It  was  a  strange,  rich, 
luminous  room,  set  about  with  oriental  treasures  in 
unexpected  patches  of  pure  color,  like  a  brilliant  unor- 
ganized mind,  that  draws  into  itself  refulgent  images, 
which  it  has  no  power  to  co-ordinate. 

Usually  oblivious  of  such  externals,  Craighead  felt  at 
this  instant  a  sort  of  impatient  distaste  for  so  mongrel 
an  assortment  of  treasures.  The  gay  colors  jarred  upon 
him;  the  many  individual  claims  for  notice  annoyed; 
the  fat  Buddha  became  a  personal  enemy ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  all  lay  Orchid,  the  unsettled  spirit,  the  unad- 
justed instinct  of  the  whole. 

He  remembered  how,  from  boyhood,  he  had  inveighed 
against  married  belles,  and  thought  the  men  who  en- 
couraged such  abnormal  social  phenomena  even  more 
contemptible  than  the  weak  creations  of  their  weakness. 
On  leaving  Harvard  for  city  life,  he  would  have  scorned 
the  suggestion  of  temptation  from  such  a  quarter.  But 
sometimes  armor  may  be  worn  thin  by  over-polishing. 

When  the  young  lawyer's  first  success,  the  speech  in 
court  which  filled  the  local  papers  with  head-lines,  had 
caused  him,  after  the  manner  of  such  things,  to  be 
bidden  about  to  teas  and  receptions,  he  found  the  lion- 
izing by  no  means  unpleasant.  He  thought  of  flattery 
as  wine,  and  consciously  steadied  himself  after  each 
new  bumper.  At  one  of  the  gatherings  a  summons  was 
brought  him  from  Mrs.  Wiley,  the  reigning  belle  of  the 
Boston  season.  He  was,  at  the  moment,  in  a  quiet 
corner,  bending  over  a  flower-faced  girl.  The  interrup- 
tion was  unwelcomed,  and  he  followed  his  friend  with 
obvious  reluctance.  Bowing  stiffly  to  Mrs.  Wiley,  his 
raised  head  encountered  two  wonderful,  merry  green 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  say,  "Don't  think  that  /  intend 
to  flatter  you,  young  man." 

After  a  few  moments'  sparkling  conversation,  made 
up  on  her  part  of  exquisitely  keen  rapier  thrusts  into  his 
recently  inflated  self-esteem,  and  on  his  of  sarcastic  but 


4  TRUTH    DEXTER 

very  inadequate  repartee,  he  turned  away,  the  bloom  of 
his  vanity  tarnished,  but  his  blood  rather  quicker  of 
beat.  He  sought  again  the  flower-faced  girl,  but  her 
innocent  chatter  was  strangely  flatted  to  his  ear. 

He  and  Mrs.  Wiley  had  their  second  meeting  a  few 
evenings  later.  He  looked  at  her  with  veiled  hostility, 
resenting  the  laws  of  polite  deportment  that  demand 
recognition  for  recognition.  She  brushed  past  him  with 
as  little  concern  as  if  he  had  been  a  potted  plant.  He 
colored,  and  turned  to  the  door,  but,  an  instant  after, 
wheeled  about  again,  and  began  a  deliberate  search  for 
the  friend  (his  junior  partner)  who  had  first  presented 
him. 

"Come  and  introduce  me  to  Mrs.  Wiley,  Norton." 

Norton  stared  for  a  moment,  speechless,  then  his  wide 
mouth  grew  suddenly  wider.  "  Oh,  I  see !  She  's  cut 
you!"  he  cried  in  evident  delight.  "Don't  take  it 
hard,  old  man.  It's  only  one  of  her  little  ways." 

Craighead  muttered  something  about  not  caring  a  — 
unit  unknown  to  the  metric  system  —  about  her  little 
ways,  as  Norton  hurried  him  toward  the  cruel  charmer. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Craighill,  of  course!  How  could  I  have 
forgotten!  Why,  it  was  you,  was  it  not,  who  wrote 
that  splendid  article  in  the  last  '  Pedantic '  upon  the 
occult  influence  of  Mars?" 

Craighead  paled  with  rage. 

"Oh,  never  mind!"  laughed  his  tormentor.  "I  see 
I  must  have  mistaken  the  article.  You  've  done  some- 
thing fetching,  I  'm  sure.  But  come  down  to  earth 
now,  and  take  me  to  get  a  glass  of  punch.  I  'm  perish- 
ing!" 

From  an  alcove  Norton  watched  their  slow  progress 
through  the  crowded  rooms.  In  his  eyes  was  humor, 
and  something  of  genuine  pity.  "Poor  old  Van!  He  's 
old  and  stiff  for  his  years.  It  will  go  hard  with  him." 

And  it  did  go  hard  with  him ;  no  man  can  know  how 
hard  who  has  not  found  his  own  vaunted  racecourse 
quicksand.  Doubtless  it  was  the  initial  sting  that 
spurred  his  pride  to  undertake  revenge.  This  was  the 


THE  BRASS  BUDDHA  GRINS     5 

first  woman  who  had  challenged  his  interest  with  a 
blow.  A  more  accomplished  "society  man  "  would  have 
appreciated  the  clever  ruse  at  first  glance,  but  Craighead 
had  hitherto  affected  to  disdain  "society."  The  modern 
Achilles  has  more  weak  spots  than  heels,  and  of  them 
masculine  vanity  is  most  accessible.  So  it  transpired 
that  Craighead  became  yet  another  victim  for  the  insa- 
tiable Mrs.  Wiley,  carrying  his  throat  haughtily,  and 
continuing  to  believe  himself  invincible. 

The  result  to  him  of  the  friendship  had  been  a  series 
of  intellectual  surprises,  which  continued  to  furnish 
fresh  pique  to  his  curiosity.  Mrs.  Wiley  had  thrown 
herself  fearlessly  into  the  most  logical  and  masculine  of 
his  problems ;  there  meeting  him,  point  for  point,  with 
a  brilliancy  and  originality  of  suggestion  that  first 
astonished  him,  then  charmed,  and  finally  became  a 
necessity.  She  never  assumed  the  mastery,  but,  some- 
times turning  as  if  weary  of  impersonal  discussion, 
would  speak  in  a  hushed  voice  of  the  utter  impossibility 
of  having  the  best  part  of  one's  self  understood.  Little 
by  little  he  had  come  to  feel  that  he  alone  was  her  true 
friend,  her  intellectual  companion,  her  accepted  teacher. 

Nevertheless  there  were  moments  when,  as  now,  his 
hard  New  England  common  sense  forced  him  into  view- 
ing himself  as  with  another's  man  eyes,  and  he  winced 
under  the  apparition.  There  was  an  odor  as  of  drugs 
about  the  whole  situation.  He  seemed  to  have  been 
betrayed  in  the  very  citadel  of  his  strength;  as  if  he 
were  a  Samson,  who  had  waked  in  time  to  feel  the  cold 
touch  of  the  shears.  It  was  not  so  much  the  ghost  of 
his  boyish  ideals,  as  the  danger  alarm  ringing  through 
the  last  moments  of  a  dream,  that  now  haunted  him. 
With  all  her  frankness  Orchid  had  ever  remained  elu- 
sive, a  mystery,  a  Protean  problem.  But  he  had  never, 
until  this  moment,  suspected  that  the  solution  lay  in  the 
fact  of  his  being  a  mere  dupe.  A  revulsion  of  feeling 
against  her  was  strong. 

Weary  of  returning  his  heavy  gaze,  Orchid  had  closed 
her  eyes;  and  now,  with  one  flushed  cheek  against  a 


6  TRUTH    DEXTER 

velvet  cushion,  was  breathing  as  if  asleep,  with  the  soft, 
fragrant  rhythm  of  an  infant. 

" Have  you  a  heart  at  all? "  asked  the  man  slowly,  in 
a  low  voice,  as  if  not  expecting  to  be  answered.  She 
looked  up  with  a  little  start  and  shiver. 

"A  —  a  —  heart!  "  she  echoed.  A  strange  light  sank 
to  the  depths  of  her  wonderful  eyes  and  lay  clinging  to 
the  gray  rock.  Her  nostrils  quivered. 

"Perhaps  I  've  been  spared  a  heart.  I  've  been  told 
so."  She  paused,  and  drew  in  a  long  breath.  "But 
I  have  other  things;  an  intellect,  for  instance;  a  soul, 
I  think ;  and  —  a  —  tiger  whose  chains  are  wearing 
thin." 

No  one  could  have  told  whether  her  listener  were 
moved  or  unmoved.  She  flashed  one  keen  look  across 
his  face,  then  leaned  back  and  again  closed  her  eyes. 

"If  I  thought  —  if  I  believed — that  you  were  capable 
of  a  feeling  so  intense  that  you  feared  it,  I  should  honor 
you,"  he  said  at  length.  "But  that  is  not  your  reason. 
You  were  frank  enough  at  first.  You  quoted  some 
infernal  old  woman  —  " 

"My  mother,"  she  murmured. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  'm  sure.  They  are 
all  alike,  though."  He  was  not  to  be  turned  from  his 
purpose.  "  You  said  —  " 

"Never  mind  what  I  said,  Van.  You're  not  a 
phonograph." 

He  took  no  notice  of  her  flippant  remark,  but  went  on 
steadily,  as  if  pursuing  his  own  thoughts. 

"  I  could  easily  bear  the  loss  of  your  friendship  —  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you!  "  she  interpolated. 

"  —  bat  strangely  enough,  it  is  the  loss  of  an  ideal  that 
I  feel  most  keenly ;  of  an  ideal  which  I  cannot  exactly 
say  that  I  had,  but  which  I  hoped  for,  in  you." 

"That  is,  indeed,  pathetic,"  came  from  the  cushions. 

"Orchid,  don't  force  me  to  despise  youl  Surely  you 
have  enough  that  is  genuine  in  you  to  wish  to  leave  to 
an  old  friend  what  glamor  of  fancy  the  situation  affords. 
For  I  shall  not  accept  your  weak  compromise,  I  am 


THE    BRASS    BUDDHA    GRINS  7 

not  to  be  waved  aside  and  beckoned  back  at  will.  This 
means  • — •  the  end. " 

She  caught  her  breath  slightly,  and  made  as  if  to  rise, 
but  his  face  and  tone  had  a  sort  of  relentless  monotony 
that  checked  her.  She  shrugged  one  shoulder  and 
shrank  back. 

"  I  shall  not  pretend  that  it  comes  without  a  shock. 
The  awakening  is  not  pleasant,  though  perhaps  salutary. 
What  I  have  cared  most  for  in  you  was  your  possibility 
of  greatness;  with  this  belief  gone,  little  is  left  to 
regret." 

Orchid  gave  an  insulting  little  laugh,  and  began 
humming  an  air  from  Carmen  under  her  breath. 

Craighead  faced  her  squarely.  "  You  will  have  other 
dupes  left,  of  course,"  he  said  bitterly;  "but  how  much 
interest  have  they  in  all  that  is  best  and  deepest  in  your 
nature  ?  It  is  amusement  for  them  to  watch  your  steady 
degeneration.  I  alone  at  times  have  suffered,  and,  at 
times,  dared  to  remonstrate.  Is  it  not  enough  to  have 
undermined  my  faith,  without  forcing  me  to  believe  that 
you  gloat  over  the  disillusion?" 

Orchid  gazed  upon  him  from  under  level  eyelids,  and 
in  well-feigned  admiration.  She  opened  her  lips,  but 
before  she  could  speak  he  had  broken  in  — 

"  And  you  are  great,  —  in  strange,  erratic  flashes ! 
This  makes  it  all  the  harder  to  know  that  you  will 
ruthlessly  allow  your  nature  to  lapse  into  disintegration. 
Most  women  are  hens,  or  else  guinea-fowl ;  you  might 
have  been  an  eagle.  It  is  this  very  prostitution  of 
fineness,  this  cheapening  of  emotion,  this  contemptible 
twiddling  of  the  nerves  of  the  soul,  that  is  the  curse  of 
our  era.  Are  we  a  nation  of  men,  —  or  of  charlatans  ?  " 

Orchid  laughed  again,  and  this  time  the  tone  was  one 
of  honest  merriment.  "  In  New  England,  at  least,  you 
are  a  nation  of  women,"  she  answered.  "  We  set  the 
standards;  we  run  the  newspapers,  and  make  the  laws. 
You  men  are  simply  our  materials.  And,  Sir  Scoffer, 
I  would  like  to  inform  you  that  even  at  the  bar  of 
my  own  suspicious  sex,  I  am  accounted  a  thoroughly 


8  TRUTH    DEXTER 

respectable  young  matron,  a  leader  of  society,  a  patroness 
of  functions." 

She  held  herself  stiffly  upright,  in  exaggerated  hauteur, 
and  gave  a  mocking  laugh.  He  did  not  reply  at  once, 
and  she  sat,  slenderly  erect,  swaying  a  little  from  side 
to  side,  and  smiling. 

In  spite  of  the  irritation  produced  by  Van's  words, 
and  the  anger  now  well  under  control,  she  was  both 
interested  and  excited.  Van  was  revealing  himself  in 
a  new  role,  and  anything  new  was  a  boon.  In  his  very 
denunciation  she  felt  herself  expanding.  It  was  strange 
flattery,  this  unexpected  tribute  from  so  reserved  a 
nature,  to  her  charm,  her  power,  her  possibilities.  She 
realized,  too,  that  it  was  the  crisis  of  their  friendship,  a 
moment  of  exaltation,  or  of  dissolution.  She  must  not 
deceive  herself  by  underestimating  the  impersonality  of 
his  coldness.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  her  admiration 
for  him  in  this  mood  of  relentless  decision  and  analysis 
swung  her  out  into  currents  deeper  and  more  dangerous 
than  any  pity  for  a  pleading  lover  could  have  done. 
She  had  always  loved  danger.  She  felt  the  swift  com- 
ing of  it  now. 

"  Well, "  she  cried,  "  do  you  challenge  my  last 
assertion  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid !  "  he  answered  suddenly.  "  Not  for 
a  moment  would  I  think  of  imputing  to  you  what  society 
calls  blame.  You  have  been  clever  enough  not  to  offend 
any  of  its  sacred  laws.  Nobody,  but  a  few  deadly  old 
maids,  could  find  fault  with  you  for  making  a  decorous 
use  of  the  freedom  your  good  husband  allows.  That 's 
not  it.  The  social  standard  itself  is  to  blame.  It 's  too 
narrow.  It  draws  the  line  in  the  wrong  place.  It  can't 
distinguish  a  hypocrite  from  a  heroine.  I  have  not,  as 
yet,  made  any  deep  investigation  into  such  problems,  — 
social  well-being  versus  the  right  of  individual  develop- 
ment; but,  in  your  case,  at  least,  I  declare  to  you 
solemnly  that  I  believe  you  would  be  a  nobler  woman, 
though  you  defied  the  world  openly  for  the  sake  of  one 
great  love,  than,  secure  in  conventions  which  no  really 


THE    BRASS    BUDDHA    GRINS  9 

great  soul  could  tolerate,  to  continue,  as  now,  drawing 
nutriment  for  your  vanity,  from  the  decay  of  men's  ideals. 
You  drink  of  homage,  as  old  Omar  did  of  wine.  You 
would  dissolve  our  characters  in  your  caprice,  as  Cleo- 
patra did  pearls.  And  your  reckoning  will  be  equally 
mournful." 

He  paused,  drew  a  long  breath,  and  then  turned  to 
gaze  with  deliberate  sadness,  rather  than  scrutiny,  into 
the  charming,  defiant  face  before  him.  She  looked  at 
him  hard  and  long,  as  if  trying  to  overcome,  by  sheer 
feminine  magnetism,  his  ugly  skirmish-line  of  prophecies 
and  criticism.  But  the  solemn  dignity  of  the  visitor's 
expression  did  not  alter.  With  eyes  still  on  his,  she 
leaned  nearer,  arched  her  throat  as  if  for  a  strike,  and 
asked  derisively:  "With  whom  do  you  propose  that  I 
shall  elope,  in  order  to  demonstrate  my  greatness,  — 
Cyril  Bole?  Quincy?  or,  perhaps, — yourself?" 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  do  not  aspire  to  the  honor." 

The  red  in  Orchid's  cheek  vanished;  a  slight  pallor 
took  its  place.  She  covered  her  eyes  with  both  hands, 
and  Van  could  see  that  she  was  shaking  with  some  sup- 
pressed emotion.  What  was  it, — anger?  —  laughter? 
—  tears?  He  sat  watching  her  as  one  might  watch  a 
beautiful,  half-tamed  forest  captive.  At  length  her 
strained  breathing  gave  way  to  unmistakable  sobs. 
The  jewels  on  her  fingers  seemed  to  detach  themselves, 
one  by  one,  and  fall  into  her  lap.  They  were  tears. 

Van  felt  decidedly  uncomfortable,  and  bent  his  stiff 
head.  "  Orchid,  if  I  was  too  harsh,  —  if  I  hurt  you, 
forgive  me." 

"Ah,  yes,  you  hurt,"  she  whispered  piteously.  "You 
do  not  dream  how  much.  But  I  thank  you.  I  see  it 
all  now.  It  is  n't  too  late.  Tell  me,  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  God  knows !     You  '  ve  gone  too  far. " 

"  But  suppose  I  did  love,  —  loved  a  man  enough  to 
defy  the  world  for  him.  Suppose  —  I  loved  —  you  !  " 

Craighead's  glance  might  have  smitten  water  from  a 
rock.  "  Suppose  I  should  not  believe  you,  though  you 
swore  it! " 


10  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Her  pallor  deepened.  She  shivered  a  little,  but  her 
answer  flew  more  swiftly  than  his  taunt. 

"But  you  shall  believe  me!  You  do  believe  me! 
Ah  —  " 

The  effort  seemed  to  overcome  her.  Her  head 
drooped.  He  could  see  that  she  was  trembling.  The 
sudden  expansion  of  the  problem  made  him  dizzy.  Its 
fascinations  grew  iridescent,  like  the  colors  of  a  great 
bubble  blown  by  Fate. 

"  This  rivals  Madame  Bernhardt, "  he  forced  himself 
to  say.  She  had  not  seen  how  the  dream  of  a  dream 
had,  momentarily,  softened  his  rigid  profile. 

"  Oh,  Van,  that  was  cruel,  —  unworthy  of  you !  " 
The  harp -tones  of  her  voice  faltered.  "  Now  that  you 
have  conquered,  be  generous!  Perhaps  I  have  been 
acting,  all  along,  —  until  now,  but  it  has  been  to 
deceive,  not  you,  but  my  own  heart.  It  isn't  too  late! 
Can't  you  see,  —  can't  you  feel  that  I,  —  Oh,  Van  —  " 
She  threw  her  arms  out  wildly.  He  caught  her  wrists. 
There  was  a  gleam,  as  of  triumph,  on  his  face. 

"You  do  not  love  me!"  he  said  in  a  terrible  voice. 
"  I  know  you  better  than  you  know  yourself.  This  is  a 
mere  paroxysm,  a  revelry  in  sensation."  She  struggled 
a  little  in  his  rough  grasp.  "  God  knows  I  want  to 
believe  you.  But  to  swear  it  is  not  enough.  How  are 
you  going  to  make  me  believe  ?  " 

"  It  is  true !  1  swear  it !  Let  my  arms  go,  —  you 
hurt  me." 

He  almost  threw  down  her  wrists,  into  whose  white 
circles  the  pink  blood  darted.  He  had  the  advantage, 
and  meant  to  keep  it. 

"  Would  you  be  willing  to  give  me  proof  of  this  before 
the  world?" 

"Yes,  Van, —but  — " 

"  No  evasions !  Answer  me  on  your  soul,  —  before 
Heaven!  Since  you've  gone  this  far,  I  will  know. 
This  must  be  the  ultimate,  irrevocable  test." 

All  at  once  he  felt  himself  possessed  by  that  rage  for 
certainty  —  for  acquisition  —  which  may  belong  as  well 


THE    BRASS    BUDDHA    GRINS  11 

to  the  scientist  as  to  the  lover ;  to  the  religious  fanatic, 
as  to  the  slayer  of  wild  beasts.  She  hud  stung  the 
inmost  fibre  of  that  on  which  he  most  prided  himself, 
his  judgment  of  human  character.  This  time  the  test 
included  judgment  of  himself  also.  Her  possible  suffer- 
ings did  not  even  occur  to  him.  The  savage  —  or  was 
it  the  scientist?  —  was  uppermost.  "Do  you  hear? 
Answer  me,  Orchid !  Were  I  to  demand  it,  could  you 
swear  to  defy  the  world  for  my  sake,  to  give  up  home, 
friends,  wealth,  honor?  If  I  ask  it,  I  say,  can  you  — 
will  you- — swear  this  to  me?" 

"I  will."     Her  voice  was  a  muffled  beating  of  wings. 

"Then  you  shall  be  put  to  the  test."  He  sprang  to 
his  feet,  and  looked  down  at  her,  trembling  and  glitter- 
ing among  the  bright  cushions.  Was  she  a  tigress  at 
bay,  or  about  to  yield  and  fawn?  In  either  case  she 
was  supremely  beautiful.  He  suddenly  became  aware 
that  the  crisis  of  his  own  self-test  was  upon  him.  For 
a  thousand  reasons  he  must  have  her  secret.  A  desire 
to  seize  her,  to  kiss  her,  to  crush  her  until  she  screamed, 
startled  him  with  its  sudden  intensity.  He  had  never 
allowed  himself  to  think  of  her  as  a  lover.  It  was  no 
part  of  his  purpose  to  become  one  now.  If  he  yielded 
to  a  mere  impulse  of  tenderness,  his  power  to  test  her 
would  be  gone  forever;  and  she  might  gain  suprem- 
acy. He  mastered  himself,  and  said  coolly,  but  more 
kindly :  — 

"Do  not  think  that  I  would  take  a  low  or  unworthy 
advantage  of  this  concession,  Orchid.  I  appreciate 
fully  what  it  means  to  a  woman  in  your  position.  I 
shall  consider  carefully  all  the  conditions  before  requir- 
ing the  fulfilment  of  your  oath.  But  —  "  here  again  his 
eyes  took  fire  —  "as  sure  as  there  is  a —  " 

At  this  moment  a  heavy  step  and  a  cheery  voice 
sounded  in  the  outer  hallway.  The  brass  rings  of 
the  portiere  hissed  to  one  side,  and  Mr.  Thomas  C. 
Wiley  entered  his  wife's  boudoir.  As  he  met  the  ex- 
cited faces  before  him,  he  stopped,  and  his  countenance 
gathered  a  foolish  look,  which  was  followed  by  a  flush. 


12  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Orchid  gave  a  little  cry,  as  of  relief,  and  sped  toward 
him. 

"Oh,  Tom,"  she  panted,  "you  are  only  just  in  time! 
Van  —  Van  is  asking  me  to  run  away." 

The  room  was  tilled  with  that  sort  of  intensified 
silence  that  follows  an  explosion.  In  the  sudden  photo- 
graphic sensitiveness  to  detail  of  Van's  eye  the  brass 
Buddha  distinctly  appeared  to  grin.  Tom  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  with  an  expression  such  as  an  honest 
cow  might  wear,  if  offered  a  wisp  of  green  paper  instead 
of  grass.  Then,  breaking  into  a  forced,  chuckling 
laugh,  he  cried,  "  Wants  you  to  elope,  does  he  ?  Well, 
that 's  a  good  joke !  " 

Orchid's  answering  laugh  was  a  bit  hysterical.  She 
retained  her  hold  of  Tom's  hand  as  she  replied:  — 

"  Yes,  is  n't  it?  That 's  what  we  thought.  Why  are 
you  so  late,  dear?" 

Van  could  never  afterward  quite  recollect  how  he  got 
away.  Tom  had  certainly  given  his  hand  a  painful 
squeeze.  There  was  a  vague  impression  of  falling  over 
footstools  and  of  hearing  something  crash.  A  vision  of 
Orchid  smiling,  with  Tom's  hand  on  her  shoulder,  was 
framed,  like  the  denouement  of  a  tragedy,  in  red  fire. 
He  had  seemed  forced  into  the  role  of  baffled  villain, 
slinking  away  from  the  suspicious  glances  of  the  foot- 
men, the  pedestrians  in  the  snowy  streets,  and  the 
shapeless  mass  of  passengers  in  the  over-loaded  street- 
cars. 

An  hour  later,  while  sullenly  ramming  shirts  and 
things  into  a  dressing-case,  a  blue  note  was  handed 
him.  It  exhaled  an  essence  of  orchids  and  of  incense. 
He  tore  it  open,  and  his  mouth  went  awry  in  an  ugly 
smile  as  he  read  the  unsigned  words,  — 

"When  you  come  from  the  South." 


CHAPTER   II 

OVER   THE   RUBICON 

THE  next  morning  Mr.  Van  der  Weyde  Craighead 
awoke  with  dust  in  his  nostrils.  A  grimy  landscape, 
visible  from  the  car  windows,  streamed  backwards  as  if 
in  flight  of  terror  at  some  catastrophe  ahead.  He  was 
still  among  the  big  cities  of  the  Northeast,  where  he 
could  be  sure  of  morning  papers.  Of  these  he  bought  a 
supply  sufficient  for  the  inauguration  of  a  news-stand, 
and  skimmed  through  the  lot  with  increasing  disgust. 
Babble,  scandal,  and  personalities!  Even  the  political 
discussions  sounded  like  thinly  veiled  squabbles  between 
gamblers.  An  obscure  corner,  packed  with  short  cable 
messages,  held  all  the  European  news. 

"  What  the  deuce  do  I  care  about  Rudyard  Kipling's 
squabbles?"  he  growled,  as  he  tossed  the  last  crack- 
ling sheet  toward  a  vibrating  pyramid  on  the  opposite 
cushion. 

From  a  window  of  the  smoking-car  he  stared  out 
upon  a  world  scarcely  less  mean  and  inadequate  than 
that  depicted  by  the  daily  press.  The  bare,  pathetic 
villages;  the  rubbish  heaps  of  gloomy  foundries;  the 
flat-faced  station  shops  with  half-emptied  candy-jars, 
drying  lemons,  cigarette  packages,  and  plugs  of  tobacco 
jammed  close  against  the  glass  panes  of  the  one  dirty 
window ;  the  mammoth  advertisement  signs  that  broke 
the  monotonous  checks  of  farms ;  the  flat,  coarse  roads 
smirking  out  over  bare  hills  or  stump-dotted  plains,  — 
all  combined  to  oppress  him  with  a  sense  of  dreary  hope- 
lessness. Occasional  glimpses  of  Chesapeake  Bay,  bluer 
for  the  setting  of  tinted  smoke  from  the  engine,  came 
like  refreshing  draughts. 


14  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Between  eight  and  nine,  the  dome  of  the  Capitol  at 
Washington  suddenly  rose  and  hung,  like  a  huge  white 
bubble,  floating  over  a  sea  of  uncertain  grays.  The 
novel  spectacle  —  Craighead  had  never  been  so  far  South 
before  —  carried  him  sheer  through  painfully  haunting 
thoughts  of  Boston,  into  deeper  strata  of  fancy,  where 
he  was  surprised  to  catch  ambition  already  laying  the 
corner-stone  of  a  parliamentary  career.  Strolling  during 
the  half-hour  wait  into  Pennsylvania  Avenue,  he  caught 
that  first  inspiring  vista  of  ample  lines,  down  whose 
convergence  so  many  legions  of  mad  votaries  have  been 
swept  to  the  many-terraced,  many-pillared  Pantheon  of 
Power,  which  glitters  against  the  sky  like  a  vast,  carved 
iceberg. 

As  the  train  slowly  drew  out  over  the  Potomac,  he 
felt  that  he  was  crossing  a  kind  of  Rubicon.  This  had 
been  the  frontier  of  that  strange  South  he  was  now 
invading,  where  red-hot  rebels  still  scowled  on  Yankee 
"Carpet-Baggers,"  and  long-haired,  lantern-jawed,  ill- 
clad  men,  with  pistols  and  knives  bulging  in  scanty  con- 
cealment, slouched  in  waiting  for  a  congenial  duelling 
fracas,  or  the  delights  of  an  opportune  lynching.  Yon- 
der among  the  hills  must  lie  the  mansion  of  General 
Robert  Lee,  proud  and  lonely,  as  its  owner's  career  in 
history.  He  pictured  to  himself  the  sentried  regiments, 
the  smoke  of  crowding  transports,  the  mighty  bustle  of 
armed  legions  that  had  trodden  these  reedy  shores  to 
mud,  only  a  generation  ago.  Miles  of  dilatory  freight 
cars  soon  shut  out  the  view. 

Craighead  now  resolutely  drew  himself  together,  and 
focussed  his  energies  upon  what  he  knew  to  be  his  own 
battle  for  the  day.  There  were  no  more  distracting 
sights  to  excuse  procrastination. 

He  was  like  a  general  who  surveys  a  fatal  field  the 
morning  after  a  rapid  but  decisive  skirmish.  What  a 
situation  for  a  cool-headed  lawyer,  a  scorner  of  feminine 
charms!  How  had  it  all  happened?  And  where  had 
he  made  mistakes  ?  And  was  he  now  a  fugitive,  or  a 
prisoner  ? 


OVER    THE    RUBICON  15 

Van  did  not  spare  himself.  It  was  one  of  his  charac- 
teristics, one  that  was  making  him  noted  at  the  bar,  to 
be  able  to  sit  in  court-martial  upon  himself.  He  willed 
to  recollect  with  painful  minuteness  every  word,  tone, 
and  gesture  of  the  preceding  evening.  He  took  out  a 
note-book  and  began  to  jot  down  points.  He  liked  to 
range  facts  and  probabilities  in  clear  and  separate  order, 
like  a  dentist's  glittering  tools  under  the  very  eyes  of 
a  victim;  and  he  now  felt  some  cold  exultation  in  a 
duality  of  emotions  that  rendered  such  an  operation 
possible. 

The  jauntily  patronizing  negro  porter,  and  the  few 
passengers,  mostly  Southerners,  dotted  about  the  sleeper, 
cast  inquisitive  glances  toward  the  stiff  bronze  head  in 
the  end  section. 

"Wouldn't  you  prefah  that  I  should  bring  you  a 
tabul,  sah?" 

Van  motioned  dissent  with  one  impatient  hand. 

It  had  been  a  catastrophe,  —  a  sunken  rock  which,  at 
the  end  of  a  long  cruise,  had  split  his  frail  pleasure 
yacht!  He  pursued  a  disjointed  soliloquy. 

"I  was  to  make  my  visits  less  frequent,  was  I?  She 
gave  the  suggestion  as  coolly  as  if  telling  her  maid  to  be 
more  circumspect  with  the  corner  policeman.  Wiley 
had  urged  me  to  come  often:  he  knows  that  I  am  incap- 
able of  taking  advantage  of  his  confidence.  Perhaps  it 
wasn't  genuine!  She  wanted  to  stir  me  up  to  some- 
thing; and  she  succeeded,  for  I  got  mad." 

He  was  "mad"  still. 

"  I  saw  that  I  was  in  danger  of  becoming  her  dupe, 
and  I  told  her  so.  She  flatters  each  fool  with  his  own 
weakness.  Sonnets  with  Cyril  Bole  I  Politics  with  old 
Hovey  Dodge!  Theosophy  with  that  heathen  Swami, 
Gunga  Deen!  Astrology  with  Wallery  Bickering!  I 
declare  it 's  enough  to  make  an  honest  calf  ill.  Even 
an  infant  like  Quincy  is  not  allowed  to  go  free;  she 
talks  football  and  yacht-races  to  him  in  a  voice  Circe 
might  have  used  in  discoursing  upon  apple-parings  with 
a  favorite  swine !  I  verily  believe  that  I  am  the  only 


16  TRUTH    DEXTER 

man  with  whom  she  has  allowed  herself  the  luxury  of 
being  sincere." 

He  was  not  scowling  now.  What  would  have  been  a 
smile  in  other  eyes  merely  unbent  his  determined  brows. 

"  And  I  succeeded  in  arousing  her  better  than  I  in- 
tended. She  was  angry  at  first.  By  Jove !  How  she 
glitters  when  she  is  angry !  Then  she  became  thought- 
ful, —  then  sad, —  then  eager  —  and  then  —  she  touched 
off  the  powder-magazine !  " 

He  dashed  his  pencil  across  the  sheet  with  a  force 
that  tore  it;  but  his  face  flushed  rather  than  hardened. 
For  him,  hypocrisies  and  illusions  had  been  blown  to 
pieces.  How  about  her?  Yes,  for  her  also!  But  a 
horde  of  new  ones  had  rushed  in,  seven  times  more 
dangerous.  At  the  moment  he  had  believed  it  a  sudden 
impulse  on  her  part;  now  he  weighed  a  suspicion  of 
deep  design.  In  the  end  it  all  came  to  this,  —  he  had 
been  willing  to  withdraw,  but  she  would  not  release 
him,  and,  to  accomplish  her  purpose,  had  sprung  upon 
him  a  man's  utmost  temptation.  Was  it  passion,  or 
strategy  ? 

He  had  accused  her  bitterly  of  the  latter.  Why  had 
he  forced  her  oath,  rather  than  flee  when  the  danger 
sounded?  Professional  curiosity?  No!  Pique?  No! 
He  had  been  dazzled  by  her,  —  no  use  to  disguise  it,  — 
he  had  played  with  the  dream  of  fire!  Of  course  he 
had  meant  nothing.  He  meant  nothing  now.  But  it 
would  be  harder  now  to  give  her  up!  Confound  her! 
Why  had  she  forced  this  issue  ?  It  was  a  tactical  error. 

"There  is  only  one  course  open,"  he  said  half  aloud, 
—  "to  drop  her!" 

He  shut  his  note-book  with  a  snap,  and  thrust  it  into 
a  side  pocket.  His  fingers  touched  the  satin  smoothness 
of  a  letter.  He  withdrew  them  as  if  burned,  and  his 
face  grew  hard. 

The  letter !  What  had  she  meant  by  it  ?  To  atone 
for  the  insult,  of  course,  —  for  his  humiliation  before 
Tom. 

"I'll  not  let  that  pass,"  he  muttered  darkly.     "She 


OVER   THE    RUBICON  IT 

shall  confess  her  duplicity,  or  —  or  —  I'll  throw  back 
her  love  in  her  teeth !  "  He  thought  his  sudden  desire 
to  believe  that  she  loved  him  due  to  the  opportunity  it 
would  give  him  for  revenge. 

"When  you  come  from  the  South!  " 

How  she  would  be  smiling  to  herself  in  the  interval, 
and  concocting  plots  against  the  tame  lion's  return! 
What  might  he  sink  to,  if  he  went  back  meekly !  No, 
a  thousand  times,  No!  Let  him  have  it  out  with  her 
now!  He  must  shatter  the  chance  defence  that  Tom's 
sudden  apparition  had  granted  her.  Let  her  know  that 
she  must  cut  herself  off  at  once,  or  yield  absolutely. 
He  must  have  that  test  she  had  sworn  to  give.  Each 
instant  of  delay  both  knew  to  be  her  gain. 

"  Last  call  for  luncheon !  " 

When  Van  returned  and  settled  himself  into  the 
corner  of  the  red  velvet  seat,  his  attention  was  attracted 
to  a  family  group  half-way  down  the  vista  of  the  car. 
A  mother,  still  young  and  girlish  in  appearance,  was 
reading  aloud  to  her  little  son,  a  lad  of  about  ten 
years.  The  child's  curly  head  was  against  the  mother's 
shoulder,  and  one  somewhat  grimy  set  of  little  fingers 
peeped  around  the  collar  of  her  neat  travelling  cloak. 
A  humorous  passage  soon  set  them  off  into  a  common 
peal  of  laughter.  The  book  was  not  resumed;  but  a 
prolonged  and  animated  dialogue  seemed  to  be  no  less 
entertaining  to  both. 

Craighead's  restless  thoughts  now  led  him  back,  half 
unwillingly,  into  a  review  of  his  own  life.  The  novelty 
of  this  open  Southern  affection  vaguely  stirred  him  with 
its  contrast.  His  own  childhood  had  known  little  of 
feminine  endearment.  His  mother,  a  worthy,  hard- 
faced  Puritan,  died  when  he  was  a  mere  boy,  leaving 
memories  of  rigid  insistence  upon  small  duties.  His 
aunts,  volumes  of  the  same  Calvinistic  sermons  bound 
in  slightly  different  thicknesses  of  leather,  betrayed  a 
similar  antagonism  to  the  claims  of  tenderness  and 
forbearance.  He  had  regarded  with  pitying  scorn  some 
female  cousins  who  once  made  eyes  at  him. 

2 


18  TRUTH    DEXTER 

His  father,  a  capitalist  in  a  manufacturing  community, 
was  also  a  New  Englander,  but  less  narrow;  perhaps 
because  an  ancestor,  reaping  gold  from  his  farm  in  early 
days,  had  married  into  a  famous  New  York  family,  and 
elected  to  remain  a  peer  among  fashionable  Gothamites. 
But  the  sole  offspring  of  this  surprising  union  had 
returned,  after  his  parents'  death,  to  his  senses  and 
Massachusetts,  where  a  later  Craighead  had  run  off 
the  remnants  of  old  Dutch  hoards  into  bright,  newly- 
patented  machinery. 

The  train  now  stopped  at  a  little  town  in  Southern 
Virginia.  Craighead  saw  the  outline  of  a  square  brick 
factory,  and  read  the  name,  painted  over  the  lower  win- 
dows in  white,  "Piedmont  Cotton  Mills."  His  poor 
father's  recent  struggle  for  manufacturing  supremacy 
spoke  clear  to  him  from  this  menacing  title.  It  was  the 
South's  tardy  revenge  for  Yankee  victories,  to  absorb 
the  thrifty  capital  that  had  hitherto  fattened  in  hyper- 
borean arrogance  upon  her  raw  materials.  Old  Craig- 
head  had  not  been  one  to  yield  to  the  new  conditions, 
and  gradually  spiders  had  set  up  mocking  looms  in  his 
deserted  factory  windows. 

As  the  train  sped  on,  Craighead  fell  into  a  mood  so 
introspective  that  it  seemed  to  embrace  his  whole  stock 
of  reminiscences  in  a  single  rapid  vision.  It  was  but  a 
momentary  flash  backward  from  his  meeting  with  Orchid, 
to  a  burn  in  early  childhood,  which  had  scarred  flesh  and 
memory  together;  and  as  nimble  a  kinetoscopic  return, 
through  scenes  of  college  days,  to  his  one  feminine 
friendship. 

The  two  years  in  which  he  had  known  Orchid  were, 
in  all  respects,  the  most  important  of  his  life.  The 
glow  of  some  unreal  fantasy  seemed  to  throw  her  up 
against  the  brightening  background  of  his  professional 
success.  He  felt  that  certain  cold  surfaces  of  his  intel- 
lect had  become  mellow  under  her  touch.  He  could 
not  disentangle  his  growing  versatility  from  the  varied 
sparkle  of  her  wit.  She  had  become  an  integral  part  of 
his  work ;  as  it  were  a  third  lobe  of  his  brain. 


OVER    THE    RUBICON  19 

How  faded  and  tame  were  all  other  women  beside  her! 
Her  face  began  to  weave  itself  upon  the  gray  woof  of  his 
reverie, —  a  clear  oval  outline,  which  at  times  seemed  to 
glow  with  an  unearthly  radiance,  as  of  a  pink  amethyst 
held  against  a  star.  The  long  green  eyes  looked  again 
into  his.  In  them  the  secrets  of  a  jungle  lay  sleeping. 
Her  eyebrows,  delicate  and  almost  level,  were  of  jet, 
fine  as  if  spun.  The  jewel-red  lips,  the  pointed  chin, 
the  metallic,  copper-gold  hair;  was  ever  a  woman  like 
this  before?  Then,  the  little  white  throat-stem  that 
bore  the  brilliant  flower  of  her  face ;  the  slight  figure, 
too  thin,  perhaps,  but  held  with  fine  spirit  and  alertness ; 
the  strange  contrast  to  this  alertness  in  her  languorous, 
Eastern  postures  among  her  silken  rugs ;  the  slim  arms ; 
the  ugly  little  hands  half  covered  with  jewels;  the  ex- 
quisite, tiny  feet  in  their  oriental  slippers ;  the  harp-like 
voice,  the  bewildering  metamorphoses  of  her  moods ! 

Ah !  was  it  not  possible,  after  all,  that  she  had  really 
loved  him,  and  that  his  thoughts  had  done  her  a  foul 
injustice  ?  In  that  case  he  owed  her  no  apology  indeed, 
but  to  demand  of  her  the  test  she  had  promised.  He 
could  honor  her  first  for  her  decision,  and  then  by  the 
noble  way  in  which  he  would  renounce  all  claim  over 
her.  She  would  love  him  the  more  for  his  magnanimity. 
They  might  still  meet  occasionally  on  a  higher  plane. 

He  rang,  on  the  impulse,  for  a  table  and  paper,  but 
before  writing,  took  out  once  more  the  little  blue  note. 
With  its  perfume  rose  a  vision  of  Tom's  caress  of 
Orchid.  It  stung  him  with  a  physical  shock,  as  if  the 
train  had  stopped.  Detached  fragments  of  his  morn- 
ing's reasoning  stood  up  gaunt  as  charred  ruins  in  a 
cold,  gray  light.  Suspicion  —  that  curse  of  his  profes- 
sion—  came  strong  upon  him,  and  he  heard  himself 
shout  again: 

"  This  is  but  a  revelry  of  sensation !  " 

He  must  know !  He  must  force  her  hand !  With  set 
lips  he  spurred  himself  to  do  what  he  afterward  recog- 
nized to  be  the  most  unlawyer-like  of  his  acts.  He 
wrote  as  follows:  — 


20  TRUTH    DEXTER 

DEAR  MRS.  WILEY,  —  For  reasons  to  be  afterward  explained  I 
find  I  must  demand  at  once  verbal  proof  of  a  statement  made  by 
you  to  me  last  evening.  Your  answer  must  be  given  now,  without 
circumlocution,  and  I  shall  act  upon  it  at  once.  The  issue  cannot 
wait  until  my  return.  Upon  receipt  of  this,  wire  me  only  one  of 
the  two  words  "yes"  or  "no."  I  must  earnestly  request,  in  fact 
command,  that  there  be  no  addition.  I  shall  regard  anything  else 
as  equivalent  to  "no."  If  it  be  the  latter,  I  shall  accept  it  as 
a  finality.  If  the  former,  I  will  write  you  further  details  and 
plans.  Do  nothing  until  you  receive  these.  Professional  secrecy 
is  absolute. 

Yours  very  truly, 

E.  VAN  DER  WEYDE  CRAIGHEAD. 

Address  telegram  c/0  Col.  John  Dexter,  Big  House,  Dexterville,  Ala. 

As  he  read  over  this  letter  with  a  final  precautionary 
minuteness,  he  was  conscious  of  a  sort  of  pity ;  but  this, 
like  wintry  sunshine  passing  through  glass,  left  no 
warmth  behind.  His  chief  thought  was  for  himself. 
He  assured  himself  again  and  again  that  the  answer 
would  certainly  be  "no."  He  thought  that  he  wanted 
it  to  be  so.  He  must  at  any  cost  rid  himself  of  this 
burden  of  doubt  and  danger.  He  felt  himself  weak  in 
considering  Orchid's  probable  feelings  at  all. 

"Poor  little  woman,"  he  murmured  once.  "I  feel 
like  a  botanist!  Ought  one  to  require  that  an  orchid, 
with  all  its  brilliant  loveliness,  should  possess  also  a 
soul?"  A  faint  smile  was  on  his  lips  as  he  sealed, 
directed,  and  stamped  the  envelope. 

When  the  next  large  station  was  reached,  he  left  the 
car  in  order  to  mail  the  letter  with  his  own  hands.  A 
draft  of  warm,  sweet  air,  with  a  dash  of  spices  in  it, 
filled  him  with  a  sense  of  delicious  novelty.  A  crowd 
of  little  negroes  ran  up  with  local  papers.  He  read 
upon  the  upper  margin,  "Charlotte,  North  Carolina." 
Making  his  way  toward  two  large  red  boxes  at  the  end 
of  the  station  platform,  marked  "U.  S.  Mail,"  he  opened 
the  narrow  lid  of  the  further  one,  labelled,  "  Letters  — 
North." 

The  missive  in  his  hand  appeared  to  have  a  volition 
of  its  own.  He  almost  fancied  that  he  felt  it  shrink 


OVER    THE    RUBICON  21 

from  the  receptacle.  He  held  it  half -raised,  and  turned, 
looking  as  far  up  the  track  as  vision  could  reach.  A 
warning  whistle  sounded;  and  an  "ail-aboard  "  from  the 
conductor.  With  a  spasm  of  decision  he  dropped  it  in, 
and  the  lid  clanked  harshly  over  it. 

As  he  sped  back  to  the  sleeper  he  said  to  himself,  — 
"If  the  Potomac  was  not  a  Rubicon,  this  is!  " 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  TRACK   OF   THE   CENTIPEDE 

CRAIGHEAD  felt  almost  light  and  gay  in  the  sudden 
relief  from  responsibility.  His  was  a  nature  that  could 
shut  a  valve,  as  it  were,  upon  superfluous  thoughts 
and  after-anxieties,  thus  leaving  clear  passage  for  the 
flow  of  new  impressions.  The  present  hour,  with  its 
novel  environment,  assumed  importance  and  reality. 
The  sunlight  now  slanted  in  through  the  car  windows 
opposite  to  him,  for  afternoon  was  well  turned.  He 
gazed  out  in  unfeigned  interest,  observing  minutely 
each  detail  of  the  scenes  which  hurried  by. 

The  month  was  February,  yet  the  air  so  warm  that 
he  was  glad  to  open  the  window.  From  the  earth 
came  a  cool,  fragrant  moisture  that  hinted  of  early 
frosts,  so  light  that  they  would  melt  at  the  very  breath 
of  dawn.  In  a  more  northern  climate  such  clemency 
in  winter  would  have  called  forth  a  demonstration  of 
emerald  blades  and  pink  leaflets,  but  here  the  woods 
showed  only  a  purple  network  of  bare  branches,  with 
infrequent  dark  lumps  of  pine  and  cedar.  Underneath 
spread  an  endless  soaked  mass  of  gray  and  brown  dead 
ferns.  The  strongest  notes  of  color  came  from  great 
red  scars  on  the  low  hillsides,  as  if  Time  had  rubbed 
away  a  scanty  integument  of  neglected  soil,  and  left  a 
flayed  earth. 

Farms  were  few  and  mean.  Bent  ghosts  of  ancient 
corn-stalks  chattered  in  the  light  breeze  and  seemed  to 
hold  out  shrivelled  arms  toward  the  train.  From  the 
sight  of  white  shreds  clinging  to  rows  of  low,  brown 
plants,  Craighead  inferred  that  here  had  been  a  cotton 
plantation.  He  thought  he  recognized  tobacco  stalks 


TRACK    OF    THE    CENTIPEDE         23 

also.  Thin,  straggling  lines  of  depleted  woods  shrank 
to  a  safe  distance,  and  hid  themselves  behind  formless 
hills.  In  the  west  were  purple  hints  of  stately  moun- 
tains, based  upon  richer  forests  of  dark  evergreen ;  but 
these  held  safely  aloof.  The  railroad,  as  if  it  were  the 
track  of  some  poisonous  creature,  had  withered  its  own 
path. 

Sometimes  among  the  uneasy  slopes  villages  were 
spilled  —  spilled  rather  than  set,  —  terminal  moraines, 
so  to  speak,  of  prehistoric  glacial  movement  in  civiliza- 
tion, with  no  suggestion  of  unity  except  the  dispersion 
in  dejected  radii  of  many  red-clay  wagon  roads.  Squat, 
gray  negro  log-huts,  with  outside  mud  chimneys  lay 
parallel  to  the  car-track,  and  were  often  double,  the  two 
ends  being  apparently  occupied  by  separate  families; 
melancholy  links  between  the  sadness  of  the  past  and 
the  spasmodic  newness  of  the  present.  These  houses 
had  the  air  of  barnacles,  which,  with  their  humble 
inhabitants,  still  cling  to  a  stranded  log.  Sometimes 
they  stood  patiently  soaking  in  muddy  swamps,  but 
oftener  sat  tipsily  on  the  side  of  some  scarred  hill,  as  if 
drawn  in  false  perspective.  The  pathetic,  stump-dotted 
space  of  forest  about  each  cabin  marked  it  as  a  sort  of 
funeral  pyre  of  the  rightful  owners  of  the  soil.  Often  at 
the  front  entrance  would  cluster  the  entire  assembly  of 
occupants,  —  babies,  grandfathers,  stout  matrons,  spiky- 
headed  piccaninnies,  —  to  laugh  and  gesticulate  as  the 
train  sped  by.  At  the  rear  of  the  house,  suspended  on 
ropes  or  dead-tree  branches,  invariably  appeared  por- 
tions of  the  family  attire,  faded  pink  calicoes,  dingy 
undergarments,  and  red  flannel  shirts,  the  last  throwing 
spots  of  vivid  color  into  the  sombre  landscape. 

Upon  such  crude  panorama  Craighead  gazed,  half  in 
pity,  half  in  contempt.  His  first  impressions  were 
decidedly  against  the  South.  Like  many  Northern 
boys,  he  had  gathered  prejudice  from  folios  of  "The 
War  of  the  Rebellion,"  with  spirited  pictures  of  sleek 
Yankee  regiments  in  the  very  act  of  overturning  dis- 
reputable mobs  of  terror-stricken  "Johnnies."  Later 


24  TRUTH    DEXTER 

in  life  he  had  been  taken  by  his  father  to  various  "  love- 
feasts,"  where  a  "Reconstructed  Union"  was  spelled 
out  in  colored  lights  against  an  evergreen  background, 
and  the  gentlemen  from  Dixie  referred  to  as  "  our  dear, 
misguided  bretheren."  In  private  circles  he  had  often 
heard  them  denounced  as  lazy,  luxurious  slave-owners,  a 
corrupt  class  which  it  had  been  a  virtue  to  extinguish. 
His  father  and  mother  had  been  abolitionists ;  and  fire- 
side tales,  whispered  over  his  childish  head,  had  made 
him  hold  his  breath  in  horror,  and  clench  his  little  fists 
with  the  impulse  of  a  young  crusader. 

But  now  the  waste  about  him,  contrasted  with  the 
snug  farms  of  New  England,  seemed  to  take  on  the 
deeper  gloom  of  a  conquered  land's  decay,  with  much 
the  same  appearance  as  that  of  a  Roman  province,  after 
the  torch  of  the  barbarian.  The  crass,  prophetic  pros- 
perity set  forth  in  Carolina's  cotton  factories  had  not 
percolated  so  far  south  as  this.  The  occasional  charred 
ruin  of  an  extensive  villa,  never  rebuilt,  standing  defiant 
in  the  midst  of  its  tangled  park,  led  him  into  picturing 
the  devastating  march  of  his  quondam  heroes.  The 
villages  showed  little  trace  of  a  former  refined  aristoc- 
racy. The  self-important  loungers  at  the  stations  looked 
like  New  York  politicians  out  on  a  very  bad  spree.  No 
man  ever  stood  firmly  on  his  feet,  evidently  thinking 
that  posts  and  walls  were  made  to  serve  as  props.  Two 
figures  in  a  doorway  outlined  a  dejected  "V." 

A  sudden  illumination  from  the  west  turned  the 
earth-wounds  to  dazzling  scarlet,  and  the  dead  grass  to 
golden  fringe.  The  Asheville  mountains  tossed  like 
waves  of  a  molten  sea. 

After  dinner  Craighead  took  his  cigar  out  on  the  rear 
platform  of  the  smoker.  The  fragrant  coolness  of  the 
evening  seemed  to  possess  a  strange,  intangible  quality, 
as  though  impregnated  with  some  fluid  hitherto  un- 
known. The  stars  hung  large,  and  moist,  and  near, 
with  something  of  human  tenderness  in  their  lambent 
regard.  Upon  the  shaking  earth,  out  from  under  his 
feet,  the  track,  stretching  away  to  the  North,  crawled, 


TRACK    OF    THE    CENTIPEDE         25 

with  its  transverse  lines  of  gullies,  stealthily  in  the  dim 
light,  like  a  veritable  centipede. 

Next  morning  he  awoke  amid  the  bustle  of  a  large 
covered  station.  Hastily  dressing,  he  stepped  out 
among  half  a  dozen  shifting  trains,  marked  "Savannah," 
"Chattanooga,"  "Memphis,"  and  other  less  familiar 
names.  The  Florida  Express  for  the  North  rolled  in 
lazily. 

"Yes,"  said  the  conductor,  "we  were  detained  about 
four  hours  at  Spartanburg,  and  this  is  only  Atlanta." 
A  small  boy,  loaded  with  yellow  missives,  took  Craig- 
head's  telegram  for  Colonel  Dexter.  Female  negro 
officials,  in  neat  white  caps,  were  in  waiting  to  minister 
to  the  needs  of  lady  passengers  and  children. 

The  badly  served  breakfast  at  an  end,  and  the  train 
once  more  on  its  way,  Craighead  turned  from  the  allure- 
ments of  Georgian  scenery  to  consideration  of  the  busi- 
ness which  had  brought  him  to  the  South.  He  took 
out  from  his  hand-bag  a  small  leather  case,  brass  bound, 
and  carefully  locked.  This  he  opened,  and  from  it 
drew  a  package  of  documents,  held  together  by  a  rubber 
band.  The  full  significance  of  these  papers  had  never 
before  been  so  clear.  His  smile  deepened  as  he  read. 
What  sort  of  people  were  these  who  had  already  refused 
with  indignation  the  offer  he  was  coming  to  repeat? 
Judge  Adams  had  warned  him  of  the  delicacy  of  the 
mission.  "It  is  a  nest  of  rebels, —  red-hot  ones  at  that!  " 
the  Judge  had  said.  "You  may  get  lynched,  you 
know." 

Craighead  had  laughed  in  reply.  All  along  he  had 
believed  that  there  was  some  "pose "in  this  unprece- 
dented situation.  His  reply  was  given  in  a  tone  of 
confidence,  — "1  do  not  anticipate  much  difficulty." 

The  Judge's  face  was  sober.  "Don't  you  be  too 
cock-sure,  young  man.  Those  people  are  prouder  than 
Lucifer,  and  the  fact  that  they  are  about  to  starve  won't 
make  a  jot  of  difference.  In  my  opinion  your  one  chance 
is  through  the  grandchild,  — a  girl,  I  believe." 

"I  count  on  her,  you  may  be  sure.     Isn't  that  my 


26  TRUTH    DEXTER 

chief  reason  for  going,  that  I  may  assure  myself  she  has 
been  informed  of  the  facts  ?  An  awkward  country-girl ! 
I  have  n't  any  doubt  what  her  answer  will  be." 

"  She  's  old  Dexter's  grandchild.  You  have  read  his 
letters." 

Craighead  now  pondered  upon  this  conversation  with 
more  earnestness  than  he  had  felt  or  shown  at  the  time. 
Somehow  the  certainty  of  success  had  begun  to  fade  in 
proportion  as  the  distance  between  Boston  and  the 
experiment  lessened.  The  unthrift  and  desolation  of 
the  land  argued  badly  for  ambition  in  its  owners. 

His  destination,  a  small  country  village  in  that  state 
of  gentle  name,  Alabama,  could  be  reached  only  by 
changing  cars  at  one  of  the  large  cities.  He  got  out  at 
a  dilapidated  station,  redolent  of  tobacco,  gasolene,  and 
peanuts,  and  was  surprised  to  find  it  the  "  Union  Depot " 
of  an  important  town.  The  little  branch  line  was  ready, 
and  waiting  for  passengers,  and  in  a  very  short  time 
Van,  in  a  "  day-car  "  of  ancient  design,  was  rattling  out 
over  transparent  brown  streams,  and  through  miles  of 
primeval  pine-forest.  The  dark  foliage  masses  that 
now  hemmed  his  track  were  almost  unbroken  by  farms ; 
and  the  monotony  of  landscape,  combined  with  the  slow, 
regular  jog  of  the  train  gradually  induced  its  few  occu- 
pants to  slumber. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they  arrived  at 
Dexterville.  Craighead  stepped  from  the  car  directly 
upon  a  level  board  platform  about  four  feet  from  the 
earth.  The  station  building  was  constructed  after  the 
architectural  design  of  a  Noah's  Ark,  and  painted  in 
much  the  same  color-scheme  with  which  children  asso- 
ciate that  venerable  house-boat.  Two  signs  in  white 
and  blue,  "Southern  Express  Office,"  and  "Western 
Union  Telegraph,"  glared  out  from  the  front  elevation. 
The  earth  close  about  the  building  was  hard,  red,  and 
trampled.  Misty  brown  woods,  with  drowsy  sparrows 
instead  of  leaves  on  bare  branches,  stood  off  in  a  dis- 
dainful circle.  A  few  strange  vehicles  with  steeds,  the 
like  of  which  Van  had  never  seen  before,  were  hitched 


TRACK    OF    THE    CENTIPEDE         27 

all  about  the  house  and  platform,  as  strings  of  fish  are 
tied  to  a  boat. 

The  train  halted  for  a  moment  only.  Craighead  saw 
his  luggage,  together  with  some  barrels  and  boxes,  flung 
out  of  the  baggage  car.  Then  came  an  impatient  scream 
from  the  engine,  a  snort  of  soot,  a  frightened  shiver 
among  the  trees,  and  the  long,  jointed  monster  curved 
off  hooting.  The  Bostonian  stood  quietly  watching  its 
hurried  retreat,  until  the  last  puff  of  smoke  rose  from 
among  the  trees.  Its  track  lay  like  a  rusty  scimetar 
along  the  earth. 

All  at  once  he  had  a  curious  sense  of  being  hopelessly 
cut  off  from  civilization.  The  very  silence  was  appal- 
ling. He  turned  toward  the  station  door.  A  few 
loafers  were  shouldering  the  door-frame,  but  no  one 
spoke.  He  stepped  quickly  forward ;  the  loafers  writhed 
and  slunk  away.  Craighead,  now  somewhat  annoyed, 
entered  the  open  door  and  looked  about  for  an  agent,  or 
some  official  to  whom  he  could  apply  for  information. 
The  ticket-window  presented  a  small  semicircle  of 
opaque  glass.  He  rapped.  A  freckled  face  rose  up, 
and  sheepishly  fitted  itself  to  the  aperture. 

"  Can  you  direct  me  to  the  residence  of  Colonel  John 
Dexter?" 

The  clerk  reddened  until  his  freckles  became  magenta. 
He  threw  an  agonized  glance  toward  the  door. 

"Ef  —  ef  you're  the  lawyer  from  Bostin,  old  man 
Dexter 's  sent  down  a  nigger  and  a  mule  fer  you." 

Craighead  fixed  keen  eyes  upon  him.  For  a  moment 
he  suspected  ridicule. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  Colonel  Dexter  has  sent  a  convey- 
ance ?  "  His  enunciation  was  as  clean  and  crisp  as  hail. 

"He  's  sent  a  nigger  and  a  team,"  repeated  the  clerk. 
Then  with  sudden  inspiration,  "  They  're  waitin'  out 
there.  I'll  show  you." 

He  hurried  out  awkwardly,  Craighead  following.  By 
this  time  it  was  almost  dark.  Purple  mist  claimed  the 
trees,  and  a  few  bold  stars  waded  the  incoming  tide  of 
night.  In  the  west  the  sun's  after-glow  spread  an 


28  TRUTH    DEXTER 

open  fan  of  dull  red ;  and  the  click  of  frogs  and  crickets 
went  like  cold  shuttles,  backward  and  forward,  through 
the  warp  of  gloom.  The  clerk  leaned  forward  over  the 
platform. 

"Norah!"  he  called,  "you  there?"  A  grunt  rose 
through  the  dusk. 

"Drive  roun'  here  to  the  steps,  you  old  fool  nigger, 
you!  Do  you  reckon  this  genTman  wants  to  stay  here 
all  night?" 

"Nobody  ain't  called  me  befo',"  murmured  a  re- 
proachful voice;  and  then,  amid  creaking  of  wheels, 
clapping  of  reins,  and  detonations  of  "  Whoa!  "  a  vehicle 
slowly  crawled  up  to  the  steps. 

Craighead  entered  cautiously,  taking  a  seat  beside  the 
driver.  His  valise  was  lifted  into  an  open  compartment 
behind,  the  reins  were  clapped  anew,  and  the  ancient 
buggy  jolted  off  into  a  void  of  dark  that  soon  swallowed 
it  from  the  watchful  gaze  of  the  clerk. 

A  group  of  loafers,  black  and  white,  ringed  the  little 
station  stove.  They  made  pretence  of  warming  hands 
by  the  few  red  coals,  rubbing  and  twisting  until  their 
joints  cracked  audibly;  standing  first  on  one  leg  and 
then  on  the  other,  and  making  curious  shuffling  noises 
with  their  heavy  feet  on  the  sanded  boards.  The  more 
phlegmatic  forbore  these  social  demonstrations  and  con- 
tented themselves  with  "plunking"  tobacco-juice  into 
the  sand-filled  soap-box  which  served  for  cuspidor. 

All  knew  what  was  to  be  the  coming  topic  of  conver- 
sation, but  pleased  themselves  with  pretended  uncon- 
sciousness. It  was  the  freckled  clerk  who  broke  the 
spell.  His  sudden  cackle  sent  ripples  of  anticipatory 
mirth  over  the  rough  faces  of  his  hearers.  "  Bless  Pat!  " 
he  began,  "  ef  I  could  make  out  a  word  of  his  darned 
lingo  at  first.  What  a  soapy  dood!  Ef  he  hadn't  er 
said  '  Dexter, '  I  never  would  'a'  knowed  what  he  was 
after." 

"He  's  wuss  than  a  Piskerpul  preacher,"  volunteered 
another,  who  happened  to  be  elder  in  the  Dexterville 
Baptist  Church. 


TRACK   OF    THE    CENTIPEDE         29 

A  third,  punching  his  neighbor,  a  large,  raw-boned 
negro,  in  the  ribs,  said,  "Them  's  the  sort  o'  things  that 
loves  niggers,  Jake.  He  fit  fer  you,  an'  stole  fer  you, 
—  fit  white  men,  too." 

"Dat  ain't  nothin'  to  me,"  retorted  Jake,  sullenly. 
"He  never  done  me  no  good.  I  has  to  work  harder 
dan  my  daddy  did  befo'  me,  an'  don't  get  ez  much, 
neider." 

"  He  looks  for  all  the  world  like  the  paper-doll  men 
my  little  Jinny  cuts  outer  her  ma's  fashion  books,"  said 
one  of  the  seated  scoffers;  and  this  sally  met  with  a 
response  that  almost  shook  the  stove  from  its  three 
precarious  legs. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FIRE-ROSES 

CRAIGHEAD  sat  by  the  silent  driver,  taking  in  critically 
the  bad  condition  of  the  roads,  the  cool  night-smell  of 
the  woods,  the  lustre  of  the  soft,  low  stars.  Automat- 
ically he  drew  out  a  silk  muffler  and  knotted  it  about 
his  throat.  "  How  far  have  we  to  go  ?" 

The  old  negro  started,  as  if  caught  in  the  midst  of 
uncomplimentary  reflections.     "Oh  not  fur,  not  fur!" 
Then,  with  more  composure,   "  It 's   jes'  pas'  de  still, 
cross  de  hammock,  up  de  raid  ridge,  an'  you  's  dare." 
Van  laughed.     "  How  many  miles  is  it?  " 
"Law,  boss!  I  ain't  nebber  mejjered  it!  " 
Van  gave  up  the  problem.     "  Did  I  understand  your 
name  to  be  Norah  ?  " 

"Yassir,  dat's  it.  Same  as  in  de  Bible.  Norah  an' 
de  ark.  When  my  ole  woman  was  libbin'  dey  called 
her  de  Ark,  she  was  dat  ongodly  fat."  The  old  man 
chuckled.  Apparently  the  Ark's  demise  had  not  de- 
prived him  of  his  sense  of  humor. 

Soon  the  "still"  was  reached,  a  tiny  serpentine  distil- 
lery with  a  crooked  little  chimney  in  silhouette  against 
the  stars;  then  the  "hammock,"  a  shimmering,  white 
road,  spongy  with  wet,  and  sunken  among  the  stems  of 
great,  black  foliaged  trees  that  seemed  to  drip  with 
honey,  myrrh,  and  rum;  then  an  upward  tilt  to  the 
"  ridge  "  where  the  clean  smell  of  pines  fought  with  the 
damp  frankincense  of  the  valley.  At  the  top  of  the  ridge 
they  came  upon  a  long,  white  fence  gleaming  through 
the  starlit  gloom  like  a  shell-road  set  on  edge.  Sud- 
denly they  turned  into  a  lane  that  smelled  of  cows,  and 
after  a  hundred  yards  or  more  stopped  beside  a  gate, 
with  a  dim,  growing  arch  above  it. 


FIRE-ROSES  31 

A  voice  rose  with  startling  clearness,  — "  Did  he 
come,  Norah?" 

"  Yassir!     Got  him  dis  time,  shore!  " 

"  Ah,  then,  —  welcome,  Mr.  Craighead !  Welcome  to 
the  Big  House!  I  'm  right  glad  to  see  you,  sir!  " 

Craighead  peered  about  for  his  host,  the  conventional 
smirk  of  greeting  fixed  for  duty.  A  large  hand  was 
stretched  upward  to  him  across  the  wheel.  The  young 
man  grasped  it  firmly,  if  obliquely,  and  by  its  assistance 
made  his  way  to  the  ground. 

"Welcome,  sir!"  again  rang  out  the  deep  voice. 
"Welcome  to  the  South!" 

They  walked  together  toward  twinkling  lights,  through 
lines  of  close-set,  pointed  cedars. 

"  The  climate  of  your  South  is  very  mild  and  pleas- 
ant," remarked  Van,  politely.  "Quite  a  contrast  to 
New  England,  1  assure  you." 

"I  reckon  so,  I  reckon  so,"  returned  the  Colonel,  with 
something  like  a  gurgle  of  satisfaction.  "  Is  this  your 
first  trip  down  South,  sir?" 

"Yes,  my  first." 

"Ah,"  said  the  old  man  in  a  lower  voice,  "you  should 
have  seen  it  in  the  old  days.  Those  were  great  days." 
He  threw  back  his  fine  old  head,  as  if  impatient  of  his 
own  memories,  stepped  forward  more  briskly,  and  said: 
"  But  February  still  gives  us  blue  skies  and  bluer  vio- 
lets. Here  we  are!  Look  out  for  that  second  step, 
sir, — it's  a  little  weak  in  the  underpinnings." 

The  big,  square  doorway  of  the  hall  was  open,  and 
against  the  somewhat  dingy  light  vibrated  a  little  darky, 
evidently  in  great  excitement.  At  a  signal  from  Colonel 
Dexter,  he  darted  forward  to  take  the  "gen'l'man's" 
hat  and  coat. 

"  The  ladies  await  us  in  the  parlor, "  said  the  Colonel, 
leading  on. 

"But — "  Van  remonstrated,  —  "my  cuffs!  my  er  — 
toilet!" 

"Oh,  they  won't  mind,"  declared  his  host.  "They 
know  what  a  trip  you  've  had." 


32  TRUTH    DEXTER 

No  time  was  given  for  further  objections.  Already 
the  parlor  door  was  wide  open,  and  a  slender  woman  in 
black  advanced  to  meet  them.  Craighead  paused  on 
the  threshold.  The  old  man's  eyes  filled  with  light  as 
he  led  his  wife  toward  their  guest. 

"This  is  Mr.  Craighead,  Dolly.  This  is  my  wife, 
Mr.  Craighead." 

Mrs.  Dexter  presented  a  delicate,  gracious  hand. 
Craighead  took  it  in  his  own,  and  with  an  impulse  of 
old-time  courtesy,  bent  down  and  kissed  it.  Afterward 
he  wondered  how  he  had  come  to  do  so  unusual  a 
thing,  but  any  other  action  would  have  astonished  the 
recipient. 

"You  are  welcome,"  she  said  simply.  "I  hope  we 
shall  be  able  to  make  you  comfortable  in  our  old- 
fashioned  home." 

Craighead  thought  her  voice  as  exquisite  as  her 
manner.  He  had  not  yet  seen  her  face  in  full  light. 
Now  she  retraced  her  steps  toward  the  centre  of  the 
room  and  stood  directly  under  the  quaint  old  hanging 
lamp,  in  the  midst  of  antique  furniture  and  draperies. 
Her  hair  was  white,  her  face  almost  as  colorless,  and 
her  hands  like  carven  ivory.  She  was  a  vision  from 
some  vanished  world  of  purity  and  gentle  chivalry. 
One  could  not  wish  to  picture  her  as  young,  or  in  any 
way  changed.  Her  charm  was  of  a  beauty  that  had 
deepened  with  her  life;  a  nature  that  suffering  and 
experience  had  mellowed  into  perfect  texture.  Out  of 
her  pale  face  shone  two  patient,  starry  eyes,  humid  with 
tenderness.  One  thought  them  the  loveliest  things  on 
earth  until  she  smiled,  and  then  her  smile  was  lovelier. 
The  Colonel's  face  was  full  of  pride,  almost  of  worship, 
as  he  saw  her  for  the  first  time  in  many  years  through 
the  admiration  of  another  man's  eyes. 

"But  where  is  Truth?"  he  cried,  realizing  at  last 
that  the  heroine  of  this  strange  situation  had  yet  to  be 
presented. 

"She  was  here  a  moment  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Dexter, 
glancing  about  the  room. 


FIRE-ROSES  33 

"Truthie!  Truthie!  "  shouted  the  Colonel,  as  if  she 
were  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill. 

A  tall,  slim,  awkward  figure  rose  from  somewhere 
among  the  chair-shadows,  and  approached  reluctantly. 

"Walk  up,  lassie!  Don't  be  afraid!"  shouted  the 
Colonel  in  his  excitement.  "This  is  Mr.  Craighead, 
from  Boston.  This  is  my  granddaughter,  Mr.  Craig- 
head." 

He  gave  the  latter  a  meaning  look,  and  nodded,  as  if 
to  warn  him  against  premature  revelations. 

Truth  stretched  out  a  long,  sunburned  hand  in  the 
direction  of  Craighead's  polite  murmur,  much  as  one 
might  offer  a  scrap  of  food  to  a  caged  monkey.  The 
young  man  barely  touched  it.  If  he  felt  anything,  it 
was  a  sense  of  disappointment.  This  crude  country  girl 
might  not,  after  all,  count  for  much  in  the  sum  of  his 
calculations. 

Mrs.  Dexter  turned  to  her  husband.  "  I  think,  Mr. 
Craighead  might  like  to  go  to  his  room,  dear.  Tea  will 
be  ready  in  half  an  hour." 

"  Why,  of  course !  "  cried  the  Colonel.  "  I  ought  to 
ha'  thought  of  it.  Here,  Nickey  "  (to  the  grinning  little 
darky  at  the  door),  "fetch  a  candle.  I  '11  show  him  up 
myself. " 

Van  followed  his  portly  guide  through  a  long,  gloomy 
corridor  and  up  bare  steps,  to  a  large,  closed  door. 
This,  with  one  ample  gesture,  his  host  threw  open. 
Craighead  actually  started  back  in  alarm.  The  room 
seemed  on  fire.  Breasting  a  swirling  torrent  of  light  he 
made  his  way  through  the  entrance.  The  ceiling  was 
a  sky  of  flame,  the  floor  a  sunset  sea,  the  white  walls 
wings. 

Colonel  Dexter  laughed  aloud.  "You  don't  see  such 
fires  as  that  in  Boston,  I  reckon.  Dolly  told  them  to 
start  you  a  little  blaze,  just  to  keep  off  the  chill."  Still 
laughing,  he  closed  the  door,  and  Van  heard  his  heavy 
footsteps  as  they  echoed  down  the  stair  and  the  uncar- 
peted  hall. 

The  young  man  stood  motionless  before  a  revelation 

3 


34  TRUTH    DEXTER 

of  fire.  Within  the  great  open  hearth  a  knotted  mass 
of  fire-devils  writhed  and  fought.  The  bronze  andirons 
were  in  the  form  of  sphinxes.  Like  pythons  of  fate 
they  stood,  their  gaunt  claws  digging  into  the  stone, 
prophecies  of  flame  gleaming  through  the  slit  apertures 
of  their  eyes.  Knurls  and  hunchbacks  of  pine,  writhing 
separately,  hissed  wrath  in  blue  gusts  of  imprecation. 
Adder  tongues  of  red  licked  down  flakes  of  quivering 
soot;  pine-knots,  grown  incandescent,  rolled,  like 
phoenix  eggs,  out  of  whorled  nests  of  fire.  Craighead 
leaned  closer,  unconscious  of  the  intense  heat.  In  the 
very  centre  of  the  fire  lived,  rather  than  burned,  a 
cluster  of  roses,  — •  such  roses  as  might  bloom  in  a  world 
where  gold  and  iron  are  blinding  gases ;  bridal  wreaths 
of  delirious  salamanders;  topaz  textures  cut  from  the 
self-consuming  substance  of  time,  brittle  as  spasms  of 
joy,  fatal  as  death-draughts  of  passion.  A  faint  trans- 
spectral  blue,  like  perfume  made  visible,  oozed  from  the 
heart  of  the  central  rose. 

Craighead  dashed  the  drops  from  his  forehead,  threw 
himself  into  a  chair,  and  gazed  on.  The  fire  had  already 
begun  to  fall  away.  Shadows,  like  strange,  misshapen 
animals,  crept  out  of  uncertain  corners  and  stole  noise- 
lessly toward  him,  until  the  star-burst  of  a  snapping 
twig  sent  them  scampering  back  in  panic.  At  each 
stampede  the  staid  old  furniture  jumped,  and  the 
polished  floor  curdled  into  molten  bronze. 

The  eyes  of  the  sphinx  burned  into  Craighead's  soul. 
Though  usually  an  unimaginative  man,  his  very  keen- 
ness of  perception  forced  him  into  consciousness  of  that 
tense,  tragic  poise  of  Fate,  which  precedes  her  irrevo- 
cable decisions. 

"Am  I  the  sphinx, — or  is  she?"  he  muttered. 
"  Whose  is  the  hell  of  flame  ?  And  the  roses,  —  are 
they  immortal  ?  " 

At  that  instant,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  question,  the 
great  central  burr  began  to  fall  away  into  ashes.  It 
went  very  quietly,  not  leaf  by  leaf,  but  all  at  once,  with 
awful  completeness.  Craighead  strained  his  eyes  to  the 


FIRE-ROSES  35 

void.  The  circle  of  its  non-existence  was  a  thing  more 
vivid  than  the  roses  themselves  had  been. 

Something  seemed  tapping  upon  a  hollow  brain.  The 
sound  came  again,  then  again.  He  realized  that  some 
one  knocked  at  the  door.  A  little  voice  arose.  "  Hero  's 
a  tellygraf  f er  you,  mister. " 

A  dash  of  icy  brine  could  not  have  been  more  of  a 
shock.  He  snatched  the  yellow  envelope  without  a 
word,  and  slammed  the  door  in  the  little  messenger's 
face.  Afterward,  in  the  servants'  quarters,  Nickey 
expressed  the  opinion  that  "Yankees  ain't  got  no  moa' 
raisin'  dan  a  buck -rabbit." 

Craighead  threw  himself  back  into  the  easy-chair, 
holding  the  paper  between  tense  fingers,  like  a  prisoner 
confronted  with  evidence  of  his  crime.  He  knew  how 
one  must  feel  who  comes  to  the  dock  for  sentence. 

A  few  moments  before  and  that  tangled  web  of  doubts 
had  lain  far  behind  him,  a  dim  trouble  from  which  he 
had  been  glad  to  escape  into  a  new  world.  The  balm 
of  Southern  air,  the  placidity  of  the  old  negro  and  his 
"team,"  and  the  fine  hospitality  of  the  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Dexter  had  almost  obliterated  Boston. 

Even  at  Charlotte  he  had  begun  to  pride  himself  on 
having  exorcised  the  spectre.  Of  course  her  answer 
would  be  "No."  But  now  he  trembled  to  his  finger- 
tips for  fear  it  might  be  "No."  Did  he  want  to  lose 
her?  Did  he  want  to  believe  her  a  trickster?  At  least 
he  did  not  want  to  be  forced  into  hating  her! 

He  got  up  and  locked  the  door.  Suddenly  he  felt  a 
desire  to  thrust  the  yellow  menace  and  its  secret  deep 
into  the  red  ashes,  and  let  both  vanish  with  the  fire-roses. 
He  tore  the  outer  envelope  and  read  as  follows :  — 

"  Cannot  answer  as  you  wish.  Do  not  take  this  for 
no.  Wait  for  my  letter.  O." 

His  face  hardened  into  that  of  a  third  sphinx.  A 
revulsion  of  feeling  swept  over  him.  He  knew  it  was 
bitter  disappointment;  he  hated  her  for  her  failure  to 
face  the  issue.  She  stood  self-condemned,  and  he  knew 
it  now  to  be  indeed  the  end. 


36  TRUTH    DEXTER 

It  was  a  mortal  wound  to  his  vanity.  With  the  very 
breath  in  which  he  congratulated  himself  on  his  escape, 
he  muttered  anathemas.  And  a  letter  was  still  to  come. 
Well,  he  need  not  answer.  He  had  given  the  ultimatum 
and  she  had  failed.  She  should  never  see  him  again. 

That  inner  conventional  part  of  us  which  sometimes 
in  later  life  absorbs  and  destroys  the  individual  self, 
warned  Craighead  that  a  summons  to  tea  would  soon  be 
forthcoming.  He  dressed  himself  like  an  automaton, 
and  promptly,  at  the  sound  of  the  bell,  went  downstairs. 

Truth  was  not  at  the  table,  and  Craighead  wondered 
vaguely  whether  she  still  kept  to  the  habits  of  her  child- 
hood and  was  sent  to  bed  at  dark.  The  supper  was  a 
typical  Southern  one  of  tea,  hot-rolls,  thin-sliced  ham, 
and  preserves. 

Conversation  was  desultory,  and  also  a  little  forced. 
The  thoughts  of  all  seemed  to  be  on  other  matters.  As 
the  little  party  rose,  Colonel  Dexter  said,  with  an  affec- 
tation of  carelessness,  "  I  reckon  you  're  too  tired  to  talk 
over  anything  like  business  to-night." 

"Consider  me  entirely  at  your  service,"  replied  Van, 
politely.  "I  do  not  feel  at  all  fatigued." 

The  Colonel  looked  helplessly  toward  his  wife. 

"That  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Craighead,"  she 
smiled,  "  but  we  old  country  people  are  used  to  going 
to  bed  early.  I  am  sure  we  will  all  be  fresher  for  a 
night's  rest." 

"Yes,  right  after  breakfast  to-morrow  will  be  better," 
added  the  Colonel,  eagerly. 

Van  bowed  acquiescence  and  went  to  his  room,  where, 
numbed  with  the  bewilderment  of  new  impressions  and 
troubled  thoughts,  he  soon  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE   HEROINE   AT   BREAKFAST 

CRAIGHEAD  woke  early,  refreshed  and  clear-headed 
from  his  deep  slumber.  The  dawn  had  come  in  with 
a  silence  unknown  to  his  city  life.  Instead  of  the 
strident  dissonance  of  factory  whistles  and  the  clang  of 
electric  cars,  he  heard  the  tinkle  and  twitter  of  birds 
and  the  unfamiliar  crowing  of  cocks.  A  strong,  resin- 
ous smell  was  in  the  room ;  the  bed  linen  was  steeped 
in  the  subtle  odor  of  "deer-tongue"  and  dried  sweet- 
grass.  By  some  untraceable  line  of  suggestion,  the 
sudden  reality  of  a  past  that  he  ought  always  to  have 
known  was  strong  upon  him. 

A  rich,  pink  light  hung  in  the  window-panes,  and 
found  its  way  to  the  walls,  against  which  the  dark 
mahogany  furniture  stood  delightfully  stiff.  The  air 
was  quite  cool.  He  glanced  toward  the  fireplace:  the 
two  tame  sphinxes  sat  drowsily  among  dead  ashes. 

Van  sprang  from  the  bed,  and,  throwing  a  dressing- 
gown  about  him,  stepped  at  random  to  one  of  the  many 
tall  windows.  As  in  most  old-fashioned  country  homes, 
the  blinds  were  kept  fastened  back  against  the  outer 
walls,  the  windows  being  amply  shaded  by  two  sets  of 
curtains,  the  under  ones  white,  the  upper  of  some  dark, 
rich  stuff.  In  summer  these  latter  would  be  exchanged 
for  bright-colored  chintz.  Van,  with  a  single,  cautious 
gesture,  drew  aside  both  hangings,  and  looked  out. 
Against  a  sparkling  blue  sky,  little  rosy  fleeces  melted 
without  diminishing  their  flock.  Below,  a  large,  un- 
kempt enclosure,  half  lawn,  half  park,  was  held  within 
bounds  by  stiff  hedges  of  evergreens,  such  as  he  could 
not  remember  having  seen  elsewhere. 

Under  an  oak-tree  facing  the  window,  stood  a  girl 


38  TRUTH    DEXTER 

whom  he  knew  must  be  Truth  Dexter.  He  had  seen 
her  for  but  one  uncomfortable  moment,  the  night  before, 
under  the  parlor  lamp.  She  was  bareheaded  now,  as 
then,  but  the  keen  spring  wind,  blowing  from  behind, 
sent  the  fine  blond  strands  out  in  a  golden  thatch  above 
her  laughing  eyes.  Her  cheeks  were  pinker  than  the 
sky;  her  slender  young  figure  was  drawn  up  stiffly,  back 
to  back  with  the  oak,  and  before  her  sat  an  audience  of 
three  dogs,  —  two  large  pointers,  and  one  terrier,  — 
whose  bodies,  as  she  talked,  writhed  in  ecstasies  of 
excitement  and  impatience.  In  her  outstretched  hands 
she  held  huge  wedges  of  some  kind  of  bread-stuff,  with 
which  Van  later  became  familiar  under  the  name  of 
"corn-dodger." 

"What  a  pity  she's  such  an  uneducated  gawk!" 
thought  the  young  man.  "  What  will  she  do  with  all 
that  money?  Turn  snob,  I  suppose." 

Here  agonized  yelps  from  the  dogs  interrupted  his 
uncomplimentary  speculations.  Evidently  Truth  was 
interspersing  her  benefices  with  admonition.  Her  clear 
voice  carried  straight  to  his  ear. 

"  Everybody  says  that  dogs  are  greedy."  Reproachful 
howl  from  one  of  the  pointers. 

"I  didn't  mean  only  you,  Jeff,  but  all  of  you  —  all. 
Now,  mind,  I  'm  goin'  to  teach  you  manners.  You 
must  learn  to  get  your  breakfast,  one  at  a  time,  like 
folks.  Here,  Huckleberry,  you  're  the  littlest.  Here, 
Huck!"  Three  smothered  cries  and  a  simultaneous 
rush. 

The  bread  was  deftly  secreted  under  her  cape. 
"  There,  now !  Just  look  at  that !  Once  more,  —  here, 
Huckleberry!  Down,  Jeff!"  Her  gestures  were  fall 
of  grace  and  vehemence. 

The  little  terrier  advanced  with  apologetic  meekness, 
received  a  pat  on  the  head  and  his  rations;  the  latter 
of  which  the  two  big  dogs  immediately  fell  upon  and 
devoured. 

"Well,  if  I  ever!"  cried  the  young  tutor.  "No 
wonder  folks  call  you  greedy." 


THE    HEROINE    AT    BREAKFAST     39 

She  seized  a  bit  of  twig  from  the  grass  and  ran  toward 
them,  her  cheeks  scarlet,  her  face  eager  with  pretended 
indignation,  her  hair  like  the  silk  of  newly  ripened 
milkweed. 

Van  leaned  to  watch  her,  unmindful  of  etiquette. 
The  dogs  at  first  made  as  if  to  run;  then,  secure  in 
their  estimate  of  her  clemency,  bounded  back,  and 
threw  themselves  fawning  upon  her.  During  the  skir- 
mish the  corn-bread  was  dropped,  and  in  furtive  gulps 
devoured. 

The  lesson  in  restraint  ended  in  a  romp;  and  the  last 
Craighead  saw  of  the  group,  Truth  was  playing  hide- 
and-seek  among  the  trees,  dodging  the  big  dogs,  behind 
whom  the  little  terrier  yelped  and  plunged  and  doubled 
in  desperate  pursuit.  "  She  's  a  hoyden,"  declared  Van, 
turning  from  the  window  at  last.  "Not  exactly  my 
idea  of  a  Southern  belle  and  heiress.  What  a  contrast 
to  —  " 

But  the  comparison  was  not  finished.  Instead,  the 
young  lawyer  began  to  whistle  the  Pilgrim's  Chorus,  an 
air  of  which  he  professed  himself  very  fond,  and  which 
he  invariably  confounded  with  the  wedding  march  from 
Lohengrin. 

The  breakfast  bell  finally  rang,  and  he  entered  just  as 
Mrs.  Dexter  turned  from  some  last  feminine  touches 
upon  the  richly  appointed  table.  A  warm  light,  tem- 
pered with  the  shadows  of  trellised  vines,  fell  through  an 
east  window.  The  charm  of  the  hostess's  face  blended 
well  with  the  stately  English  silver  and  the  quaint 
Dutch  service.  Colonel  Dexter  hurried  in  and  gave 
him  hearty  greeting  with  the  hand-grasp  of  a  Samson, 
and  the  eyes  of  a  child.  "Hope  you  are  rested,  sir, 
after  your  night's  sleep." 

Truth  was  not  yet  in  the  room.  They  were  all  seated 
about  the  table  when  she  entered.  Her  eyes  were  down- 
cast, as  they  had  been  when  she  was  first  introduced ; 
and  she  advanced  with  the  same  lack  of  ease.  It  did 
not  seem  possible  that  this  was  the  same  girl  who,  an 
hour  before,  had  bounded  over  dew-wet  lawns  with  the 


40  TRUTH    DEXTER 

grace  of  a  young  Diana.  Her  fluffy  hair  was  again 
brushed  into  rigid  smoothness.  She  wore  a  very  badly 
cut  frock,  buttoned  behind,  and  scantily  trimmed  with 
red  and  white  embroidery.  She  did  not  look  at  Van  as 
she  slid  into  her  chair  with  a  single  apologetic  "  Good- 
mornin'." 

"  Fried  chicken  and  hominy !  "  exclaimed  the  Colonel. 
"  Well,  I  'm  ready  for  my  share !  What  part  do  you 
take,  Mr.  Craighead?" 

Craighead  made  the  usual  inane  rejoinder  of  "any- 
thing," at  which  the  Colonel  loaded  his  plate  with  half 
a  full-grown  fowl,  and  then  proceeded  to  utilize  the 
small  remaining  space  for  hominy.  Evidently  this 
family  had  never  heard  of  the  indispensable  Northern 
"  porridge. " 

"Tea,  or  coffee,  Mr.  Craighead?"  came  from  Mrs. 
Dexter's  smiling  lips. 

A  bowl  of  early  wild-flowers  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  table.  This  was  flanked  on  one  side  by  a  glass  dish 
of  honey,  on  the  other  by  a  similar  dish  filled  with  fig 
preserves. 

The  Colonel  was  by  this  time  serving  Truth. 

"Here's  the  gizzard  for  you,  Truthie,"  he  laughed. 
"It  '11  make  you  pretty.  I  always  save  her  the  gizzards, 
you  know."  He  turned  to  enlighten  the  guest.  "All 
girls  are  that  way." 

Truth  refused  to  smile. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  lassie?"  asked  the  old 
man,  leaning  over  to  pat  her  shoulder.  "  Where  is  the 
twitter  of  our  song-bird  this  morning?  " 

Truth  gave  him  an  agonized  glance,  and  dropped  her 
knife. 

Van  began  a  hurried  conversation  with  Mrs.  Dexter, 
but  that  gentle  soul  was  too  much  perturbed  by  her 
granddaughter's  awkwardness  to  respond  satisfactorily. 

Thinking  to  assist  his  hostess  by  so  doing,  Van  put  a 
direct  question  to  the  girl. 

"Are  you  fond  of  dogs,  Miss  Dexter?" 

No  answer. 


THE    HEROINE    AT    BREAKFAST     41 

"Mr.  Craighead  spoke  to  you,  Truth,"  said  Mrs. 
Dexter,  nervously. 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  lifting  a  crimson  face,  "  I  thought 
he  said  Mis's  Dexter." 

Craighead  was  still  looking  at  her  in  courteous  expec- 
tation of  a  reply.  She  sent  him  a  hostile  and  miserable 
glance.  "Yes.  I  like  dogs.  I  love  them." 

Another  bang  and  clatter!    She  had  dropped  her  fork. 

"Easy,  easy,  little  girl,"  cried  the  Colonel.  "Mr. 
Craighead  's  not  goin'  to  eat  you.  I  never  saw  you  so 
scared  of  a  stranger  before. " 

"I  'm  not  scared!  "  Truth  flashed  out  at  the  Colonel. 
Her  face  was  burning,  and  her  eyes  black  with  misery 
and  tears.  She  tried  to  eat,  but  her  fingers  trembled. 
She  drooped  her  head  over,  almost  to  the  table. 

"What  is  the  matter,  then?"  demanded  the  Colonel, 
somewhat  impatiently.  "I  never  saw  you  do  this  way 
before!" 

But  Truth's  little  defences  were  down.  Nothing 
was  left  but  flight.  Rising  from  the  table,  she  literally 
ran  from  the  room,  dropping  her  napkin  as  she  fled. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  will  think  of  our  little  girl, 
Mr.  Craighead, "  said  sweet  Mrs.  Dexter,  with  tears  in 
her  lovely  eyes.  "We  live  so  quietly.  She  has  seen 
so  few  people  except  our  closest  kin."  Her  guest  has- 
tened to  reassure  her,  in  polite  phrases  which  conveyed 
the  opposite  of  his  real  impressions. 

The  conversation  lagged.  Craighead  referred,  in 
general  terms,  to  the  purpose  of  his  visit.  As  they  rose 
from  the  table,  Colonel  Dexter  touched  his  arm. 

"Can  you  come  into  the  library  now?"  he  asked. 
"Maybe  we'd  better  talk  this  over  by  ourselves,  first; 
and  then  we  can  call  Dolly  and  Truth. " 

Left  alone,  Mrs.  Dexter  hurried  to  Truth's  room. 
The  girl  was  pacing  the  floor  like  a  young  tigress,  gasp- 
ing out  broken  sentences  between  her  sobs. 

"Oh,  how  I  hate  him! — how  I  loathe  him!  The 
miserable  Yankee !  Why  did  I  drop  my  knife  ?  Why 
did  I?  Why  did  I  cry?" 


42  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Truth !  "  cried  the  grandmother,  catching  breath  at 
last,  "are  you  crazy?" 

The  girl  broke  into  fresh  sobs.  "  How  long  is  that 
man  goin'  to  be  here?  I  won't  live  in  the  same  house 
with  him!  He  don't  belong  here.  He's  only  makin' 
fun  of  us  all !  Oh  —  oh,  I  hate  him !  Did  you  see  how 
he  looked  at  breakfast,  —  his  eyes  like  little  red-hot 
tacks,  burning  you?  And  his  nose,  — like  a  can-opener! 
And  a  mouth  that  shuts  with  a  steel  spring,  like  a  rat- 
trap,  —  I  heard  it  click,  —  and  his  whiskers,  nasty  little 
red-brown  things,  like  dirt-dauber  nests  stuck  onto  his 
face!" 

"Truth  Dexter!  "  broke  in  the  old  .lady  in  tones  that 
Truth  had  never  heard  before,  "  have  you  gone  out  of 
your  senses  ?  Have  you  forgotten  that  you  are  a  lady  ?  " 

Truth  threw  herself  face-down  upon  the  bed.  "  Why 
did  he  come?"  she  sobbed,  in  more  broken  tones.  "He 
does  n't  care  anything  about  us.  How  did  he  hear  about 
us,  anyway?" 

Mrs.  Dexter  waited  until  the  sobs  had  quieted  down 
a  little,  then  went  to  the  bed,  and  sat  on  the  edge, 
beside  the  prostrate  figure.  She  was  terrified  at  this 
undreamed-of  violence. 

"Truth,"  she  began  solemnly,  "you  must  learn  to 
control  yourself  better  than  this.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
unhappy  you  make  me.  This  young  man  is  a  lawyer, 
and  he  came  because  he  thinks  —  he  has  been  told  —  he 
can  do  us  a  great  service.  Maybe  he  can.  He  thinks 
he  can  get  us  a  big  fortune." 

Mrs.  Dexter  sighed  deeply.  Truth  lay  perfectly  still 
for  a  moment,  then  she  asked,  "  And  did  he  come  all  the 
way  down  South  just  to  do  us  good  ?  " 

"Ye-es,"  replied  Mrs.  Dexter,  a  little  doubtfully. 
She  did  not  think  it  the  time  to  enlighten  Truth  with 
regard  to  possible  lawyer's  fees.  Her  words  sank 
quickly  into  the  girl's  generous  heart. 

"Well,  maybe  he  ain't  so  bad,  after  all,"  she  con- 
ceded. "  He  can't  help  it  if  he  is  funny  and  —  differ- 
ent, can  he?"  After  a  pause,  "A  fortune  means  lots 


of  money,  don't  it,  grandma?  I  thought  you  said  we 
were  poor." 

"We  are  indeed  poor,"  said  Mrs.  Dexter,  with  another 
sigh.  "We  need  the  money  badly  enough;  but  your 
grandfather  will  not  accept  it.  So  the  lawyers  say  that 
it  belongs  to  you,  and  that  your  grandfather  ought  not 
to  keep  you  from  having  it." 

"Me  /"  echoed  Truth,  and  sat  upright.  "Is  it  a  big 
fortune,  grandma?" 

"It  is  more  than  your  grandfather  had  before  the 
war." 

Truth  gasped  for  breath.  "  More  than  grandpa  had 
before  the  war!"  she  repeated.  She  was  awed,  as  if  a 
fairy  tale  were  about  to  become  true  under  her  eyes. 
The  oft-related  splendor  of  that  half-mythical  period, 
the  recollection  of  her  passionate  regret  that  she  had  not 
lived  in  the  good  days  "'fo'  de  war,"  began  to  weave 
themselves  into  fantastic  shapes  of  imaginative  possi- 
bilities, until  she  could  hardly  bear  the  pressure. 

"De  Colonel  sez  would  you  an'  Miss  Trufe  please  ter 
step  down  to  de  liberry,  Miss  Dolly,"  piped  a  voice  at 
the  door. 

"Yes,  Nickey,"  from  Mrs.  Dexter,  "we  will  come  at 
once."  Then  to  Truth,  "Brush  your  hair,  darling,  and 
bathe  your  face.  You  shall  hear  about  it  all  from  the 
lawyer  himself.  But  do  remember  that  he  means  well, 
and  that  you  are  a  lady."  Truth  arose  as  one  dazed, 
and  did  as  she  was  bid.  A  few  moments  later  she 
followed  her  grandmother  into  the  library. 


CHAPTER   VI 

A   REJECTED   FORTUNE 

THE  library  was  big,  heavy,  and  old-fashioned,  like  the 
rest  of  the  house.  A  massive  fireplace  dominated  one  en- 
tire wall,  and  the  broad,  square  chimney-shaft  jutted  out 
at  least  six  feet  into  the  room.  The  mantel-shelf,  stained 
black  with  smoke  and  age,  was  deep  and  high.  Above 
it  two  flagstaffs  crossed,  from  one  of  which  drooped  an 
old  revolutionary  banner  and  from  the  other  a  tattered 
and  blood-stained  emblem  of  the  Confederacy.  This  mar- 
tial display  was  flanked  by  two  oval  wood-engravings 
framed  in  black  and  gold,  —  one  of  George  Washington ; 
its  companion,  the  Indian-like  profile  of  Jefferson  Davis. 
At  one  side  of  the  shaft  hung  a  rack  filled  with  swords 
and  firearms,  at  the  other  a  collection  of  antlers,  deer- 
heads,  and  one  enormous  stuffed  rattlesnake. 

The  rest  of  the  apartment  conformed  more  closely  to 
its  legitimate  appellation  of  "  library."  All  available 
space  was  filled  with  tall  bookcases,  w*hose  glass  doors 
revealed  a  goodly  selection  of  English  classics.  On  the 
summit  of  each  case  perched  a  plaster  bust.  There  were 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  whose  hair  needed  trimming ;  Lord 
Byron  with  a  plaster-of-Paris  nightshirt  thrown  back  to 
display  his  rounded  throat ;  that  fox-like  face  labelled 
"  Shakespeare,"  which  never  impresses  any  one  as  look- 
ing the  least  like  the  real  man ;  and  Milton,  not  more 
blind  than  the  rest,  in  this  colorless  abstract  of  living 
features.  Volumes  of  Audubon's  birds  and  Catlin's 
"  North  American  Indians "  disputed  for  conspicuous 
places  on  the  great  carved  centre-table.  Fox's  "  Book 
of  Martyrs  "  and  "  Thomas  a  Kempis  "  were  also  in  plain 
sight.  An  old-fashioned,  waxy  portrait  of  Mrs.  Dexter  as 
a  young  girl  hung  over  the  Colonel's  mahogany  desk. 


A    REJECTED    FORTUNE  45 

Colonel  Dexter  sat  fidgeting  in  his  big  chair,  leaning 
over,  now  and  again,  to  rearrange  a  mass  of  loose  papers 
that  lay  on  the  desk  before  him.  Craighead  rose  as  the 
ladies  entered ;  and  as  soon  as  they  had  taken  seats,  fell 
back  nonchalantly  into  his  arm-chair.  This  was  easy 
vacation  work  for  him,  and  he  saw  a  substantial  fee  in 
the  background.  Moreover,  the  case  had  aspects  of  both 
novelty  and  humor.  He  threw  a  momentary,  inquisitive 
glance  at  Truth,  who  was  apparently  oblivious  of  his 
presence  ;  then  allowed  his  features  to  lapse  into  a  pro- 
fessional smirk  of  polite  if  impersonal  satisfaction. 

"  Hm-m-m-m-  1 "  he  remarked,  clearing  his  throat. 

The  Colonel  started,  looked  around  the  room,  then 
leaned  heavily  on  his  desk.  "  Gad !  I  don't  know 
how  to  begin  1  "  he  said.  "  I  know  Truth  ought  to 
hear.  It 's  about  her.  I  reckon  I  '11  have  to  tell  her." 
His  tone  was  irresolute. 

"  Or,"  said  Van,  "  if  you  find  the  duty  irksome,  I  shall 
be  most  happy  to  communicate  the  facts." 

"  No  !  "  exclaimed  Truth,  suddenly,  throwing  him  a 
scornful  glance,  "  let  grandpa  1  " 

She  walked  over  to  the  old  man,  put  one  strong  young 
arm  around  his  neck,  lifted  her  head,  and  confronted 
Craighead  with  something  like  defiance. 

The  young  man  could  scarcely  conceal  a  smile  of 
amusement,  and  perhaps  admiration,  for  it  seemed  to 
be  the  real  Truth  at  last  who  thus  challenged  him. 
"  She  has  spunk,  after  all,"  he  thought.  "  Thank 
Heaven  for  it  1  " 

Meanwhile  the  Colonel,  oblivious  of  this  by-play,  was 
puffing  and  panting  in  anticipation  of  the  monologue  be- 
fore him.  Suddenly  he  drew  Truth  down  to  the  arm  of 
his  chair,  and  began  :  — 

"  You  see,  lassie  — I  never  told  you.  I  did  n't  want 
it  talked  about  —  you've  never  heard  me  speak  about 
my  only  brother,  Eugene  —  your  Uncle  Eugene."  He 
stopped  as  if  unable  to  proceed. 

"  I  've  seen  his  picture,"  said  Truth,  wonderingly. 
"  But  I  thought  he  died  years  and  years  ago." 


46  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  No,  —  not  long  ago,  —  not  long  ago.  It  was  only 
just  lately,  Mr.  Craighead  tells  me.  But  he's  been  dead 
to  me  for  many  years,  for  I  disowned  him  when  -he 
turned  against  the  South.  Yes,  he  turned  against  his 
country  in  her  hour  of  need!  It  was  that  damned 
Yankee  college  that  mildewed  his  soul!  He  fought 
against  us,  Truth  !  Fought  against  the  land  that  bore 
him !  May  God  forgive  him,  I  can't !  " 

"  He 's  dead  now,  you  know,''  reminded  Craighead, 
gently. 

The  Colonel  dropped  his  head.  "  Yes,  he 's  dead  now. 
My  brother  Eugene  !  And  I  have  n't  seen  him  since  he 
was  a  boy  of  nineteen,  —  since  he  stood  up  before  my 
face  and  told  me  that  his  convictions  led  him  to  fight  for 
the  Union.  Convictions  !  "  cried  the  old  man,  his  excite- 
ment rising,  "  convictions !  What  right  had  anybody  to 
convictions  when  the  South  was  in  danger?" 

He  sprang  from  his  chair,  nearly  overturning  Truth, 
and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room  in  a  frenzy  of 
remembrance. 

"But,  grandpa,"  Truth  ventured. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  '11  finish,"  said  he,  returning  to  his  place. 
"  After  the  war,  —  that  hireling  victory,  —  he  went  back 
to  his  breeding-pen  of  rascals  in  Boston  (I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mr.  Craighead),  and  made  himself  a  millionaire. 
I  don't  know  how  he  did  it.  I  don't  want  to  know." 

"  Railroad  stocks,"  put  in  Van,  softly. 

Truth's  face  and  posture  were  alert  with  interest. 
Her  grandfather  went  on. 

"  He  never  married.  No  decent  woman  would  have 
him,  I  reckon.  About  ten  years  later  he  had  the  impu- 
dence to  write  to  me,  askin'  for  reconciliation,  as  he 
called  it,  and  ofTerin'  to  leave  all  his  money  to  me." 

Truth  caught  her  breath.  "  What  did  you  say,  daddy? 
You  did  n't  take  it ! " 

"  Take  it  1  "  shouted  the  Colonel.  "  Take  it  I  I  wrote 
him  that  if  he  ever  dared  to  send  down  one  nickel  of  his 
damned  Potter's-Field  blood-money  to  the  land  he  had 
betrayed,  I  'd  come  up  North  and  thrash  him  with  my 


A    REJECTED    FORTUNE  47 

own  hands  !  Take  it !  I  reckon  !  "  —  and  the  Colonel 
snorted  like  an  old  war-horse. 

"  Has  he  sent  it  to  us  anyway  ?  "  whispered  the  girl,  a 
faint  comprehension  beginning  to  dawn  upon  her. 

The  old  man  did  not  seem  to  hear.  "  That  was  years 
ago.  I  never  heard  from  him  again  after  that.  He  went 
away  to  Europe,  and  died  in  Turkey,  or  Holland,  or 
some  of  those  heathen  countries.  He  never  even  heard 
of  you,  lassie,  for  he  has  left  everything  to  your  poor  dead 
father.  I  don't  believe  that  he  knew  John  was  dead, 
or  even  married,  though  he  does  say  '  John,  or  his  heirs.'  " 

" '  My  beloved  nephew,  John  Spottswood  Dexter,  or 
any  of  his  issue  who  may  be  living,' "  corrected  Craig- 
head,  in  an  emotionless  voice. 

"  That 's  it,"  assented  the  Colonel.  "  And  so  you  are 
the  heir,  Truth.  It 's  all  yours,  if  you  are  willing  to  take 
it" 

"How  did  Mr.  Craighead  find  all  this  out?"  asked 
the  girl,  suddenly.  She  looked  squarely  at  the  lawyer, 
and  her  face,  as  well  as  her  tone,  expressed  suspicion. 

Craighead  was  surprised  and  amused.  "  Your  uncle 
appointed  Judge  Adams,  of  Boston,  executor,  Miss 
Dexter,  and  the  Judge  has  put  into  my  hands  the  case 
of  identifying  the  legal  heirs." 

"  Then  you  have  come  all  this  way  to  see  if  I  was 
myself?" 

Craighead  laughed.  "That  is  an  unusual  way  of 
stating  it ;  but,  if  it  serves  to  convey  the  impression  to 
your  mind  — 

"And  have  I  got  to  take  it  whether  I  want  to  or 
not  ?  "  She  rose  from  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  stood 
straight  and  tall  under  the  big  mantel. 

"  No,  Miss  Dexter.  It  may  be  refused  for  you  by 
your  legal  guardians,  or  by  yourself,  when  you  come  of 
age." 

Truth  looked  puzzled.  She  did  not  know  what  "  come 
of  age  "  meant.  She  shifted  her  eyes  from  his,  frowned 
in  a  troubled  sort  of  way,  then  blurted  out, "  If  I  refuse, 
do  you  get  it?  " 


48  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Mrs.  Dexter  colored,  and  gave  an  exclamation  of  dis- 
pleasure ;  but  the  Colonel  looked  at  Craighead. 

The  young  man  laughed  again.  "  I  regret  to  say  that 
I  have  no  such  hopes.  But  your  question  is  well  asked. 
If  your  grandfather  will  show  you  a  copy  of  the  docu- 
ment you  will  see  that  it  provides  for  a  refusal  by  creat- 
ing, in  that  case,  a  trust,  whose  holders  shall  apply  the 
income  first,  to  the  erection  of  a  superb  architectural 
monument  and  statue  to  the  memory  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln, and,  after  that,  to  the  support  of  a  soldier's  home 
for  his  disabled  and  indigent  veterans." 

"  That 's  the  worst  of  it  all !  "  the  Colonel  broke  in. 
"  The  rascal !  That 's  what  I  can't  forgive,  —  tryin'  to 
trick  me  from  his  very  grave  !  "  But  even  in  the  midst 
of  indignation  a  humorous  expression  began  to  creep 
into  the  old  man's  eyes.  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
looked  slowly  around  upon  the  expectant  faces,  then 
burst  into  a  grim  sort  of  chuckle  as  he  said,  — 

"  But  it  was  a  right  smart  trick !  Now,  was  n't  it  a 
right  smart  trick,  Mr.  Craighead  ?  " 

Craighead  assured  him  that  it  was ;  then,  with  eyes 
on  Truth,  remarked,  "Your  property,  Miss  Dexter,  is 
carefully  invested  in  the  best  of  bonds  and  Boston  real 
estate,  and  is  valued  at  —  " 

"  Would  I  have  to  go  up  North,  myself  ? "  the  girl 
broke  in. 

Van  hesitated.  "  Possibly  not.  It  could  be  managed 
by  an  agent  intrusted  with  your  power  of  attorney.  But 
either  you  or  your  grandfather  might  need  to  come  up 
once,  and  give  the  matter  careful  investigation." 

Truth  turned  slowly  from  the  fireplace  and  walked 
over  to  a  stiff,  high-backed  chair,  where  she  seated  her- 
self with  thoughtful  precision.  Craighead  was  im- 
pressed by  the  dignity  of  her  carriage.  Apparently  she 
was  thinking  very  deeply.  In  a  moment  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  look  at  her  grandfather.  His  broad,  flushed 
face,  half-averted  toward  the  littered  desk,  was  more 
troubled  than  she  had  ever  seen  it.  She  looked  at  Mrs. 
Dexter,  but  that  gentle  soul  was  sitting  with  drooped 


A   REJECTED    FORTUNE  49 

head,  a  slender  white  hand  shading  her  brow.  Lastly 
she  turned  her  eyes  toward  Craighead's  impregnable 
front,  and  the  tenderness  went  out  of  her  face. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Craighead,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  think 
you  had  better  go  back  to  Boston  and  begin  on  your 
statue  of  Abe  Lincoln." 

Craighead  bit  his  lips  to  repress  a  smile.  He  was 
thinking  how  this  story  would  be  received  at  the  Tavern 
Club. 

"Am  I  to  understand,  Miss  Dexter,  that  you  are 
thinking  of  refusing  this  splendid  fortune  ?  " 

"  I  have  refused  it." 

"  With  yonr  permission,  Colonel  ? "  persisted  the 
lawyer,  with  eyebrows  raised  in  the  direction  of  his 
host. 

"  Oh,  botheration ! "  cried  the  Colonel,  desperately. 
"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  !  I  could  n't  touch  it  my- 
self, but  it  don't  seem  right  to  keep  it  from  Truthie.  It 
would  go  hard  with  me  to  have  it  spent  under  my  roof. 
And  yet  to  think  of  another  statue  to  that  nigger-thief, 
Lincoln ! " 

"  Political  statues  have  always  seemed  to  me  a  great 
mistake,"  said  Van,  evenly;  "and  this  one  will  doubt- 
less be  represented  by  a  great  group  of  emancipated 
slaves  kneeling  at  their  rescuer's  feet." 

"  Damnation !  "  roared  the  Colonel. 

"  What  is  Mrs.  Dexter's  opinion  ?  "  asked  Craighead, 
deferentially,  in  sly  pursuit  of  another  success. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Craighead,"  she  sighed,  "  we  ladies  cannot 
settle  such  important  matters.  It  goes  to  my  heart  to 
have  .Truth  lose  the  advantages  that  such  a  fortune 
would  give,  yet  I  could  n't  advise  her  to  do  anything 
that  would  hurt  her  grandpa's  feelings." 

Truth  tossed  her  blond  head  in  the  lawyer's  direction. 
"  It 's  all  settled,  Mr.  Craighead.  We  need  n't  talk  about 
it  any  more."  She  gave  a  queenly  gesture  of  dismissal, 
and  rose,  as  if  to  leave  the  room. 

Craighead  was  not  at  all  disturbed.  His  self-confi- 
dence had  returned  in  full  measure,  and  he  was  just 

4 


50  TRUTH    DEXTER 

beginning  to  enjoy  himself.  He  spoke  gently,  but  very 
distinctly. 

"Really,  Colonel  Dexter,  if  I  might  venture  to  sug- 
gest, it  is  a  great  deal  of  money  of  which  you  are  de- 
priving your  granddaughter.  Is  she,  then,  so  amply 
provided  for  ?  " 

The  Colonel  reddened  angrily.  This  last  remark  was 
an  impertinence. 

"Really,"  continued  Van,  very  quietly,  "it  becomes 
my  duty  to  see  that  the  primary  wishes  of  the  testator 
are  carried  out,  if  possible ;  and,  before  I  take  a  negative 
answer  back  to  the  executor,  I  think  it  only  proper  that 
you  should  allow  me  the  privilege  of  a  family  lawyer 
and  adviser." 

The  Colonel  continued  to  scowl  in  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  said,  half  mollified,  but  still  reluctant,  — 

"  My  granddaughter  will  have  nothing  but  the  old 
place,  and  it  is  falling  into  decay." 

"  Just  so ! "  assented  Van,  briskly,  as  if  the  answer 
were  about  what  he  had  expected.  He  turned  again 
toward  the  grandmother. 

*'  Now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dexter,"  he  began,  "  I  appeal  to 
your  motherly  solicitude.  Do  not  think  for  a  moment 
that  I  disparage  any  of  your  fine  Southern  scruples  and 
ideas  of  honor.  I  can  sympathize  deeply  with  the  Colo- 
nel. Yet  is  it  not  true,  in  common  sense  as  in  law,  that 
we  should  act  in  justice  toward  the  living,  rather  than 
in  indignation  toward  the  dead  ?  You  two  grandparents 
are  this  young  lady's  sole  living  guardians.  A  time 
must  come  when  even  you  will  not  be  with  her  —  and 
she  must  be  left  alone  — 

"  No !  no !  no  !  "  cried  an  agonized  voice  from  near 
the  doorway.  "  Don't  let  him  talk  like  that !  I  can't 
bear  it !  He  has  no  right !  " 

Truth  ran  across  the  room  and  threw  herself  on  the 
sofa  beside  her  grandmother.  The  old  lady  leaned  over 
to  whisper  soothing  words. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Dexter,"  said  Van,  with  a  fatherly 
air,  "  believe  me,  I  do  not  wish  to  shock  you.  But  mat- 


A    REJECTED    FORTUNE  51 

ters  of  property  and  succession,  you  must  see,  are  facts 
that  the  merest  common  sense  cannot  ignore.  Your  en- 
tire future  is  now  in  the  balance,  and  those  who  love 
you  can  have  but  one  thought,  your  ultimate  welfare. 
Mrs.  Dexter  agrees  with  me,  I  am  sure." 

He  smiled  toward  the  elder  lady,  and  was  met  by  a 
look  sweet,  direct,  yet  ineffably  sad. 

"  Her  happiness  is  all  we  have  to  live  for,"  she  said 
simply. 

The  Colonel  ran  his  hands  furiously  through  his  short, 
iron-gray  hair,  and  Truth  put  out  a  hand  to  her  grand- 
mother's arm,  as  if  she  feared  that  Craighead  might  yet 
spirit  that  gentle  guardian  away. 

He  continued  to  address  Mrs.  Dexter. 

"Naturally  I  am  ignorant  of  the  resources  of  this 
farm,  but  can  hardly  suppose  that  it  could  be  made  to 
produce  a  revenue  large  enough  to  give  your  grand- 
daughter that  finish  of  higher  education,  and  to  main- 
tain that  position  in  society,  which  are  hers  by  right  of 
birth  and  breeding." 

He  pronounced  the  final  words  slowly,  with  feeling, 
and  a  courtly  inclination  of  the  head.  Truth  stared  be- 
wildered. The  Colonel  fumed.  Craighead  proceeded. 

"  I  fear  you  do  not  realize  the  advantages  of  which 
you  would  deprive  her.  An  educated  young  lady  of 
to-day  must  possess  a  wide  range  of  information  and 
accomplishment.  Many  of  our  universities  of  the  North 
are  open  to  women." 

Here  the  Colonel,  who  thought  he  saw  an  opening, 
interpolated. 

"  Then,  sir,  is  it  your  idea  for  her  to  take  this  blood- 
money  and  spend  it  among  those  high-falutin'  female 
suffrage  colleges  up  North,  where  girls  are  taught  that 
it  is  old-fashioned  to  be  ladies  ?  I  've  read  of  'em ! 
Crowin'  hens !  Man-haters !  Blue-stockin's !  About 
as  fit  to  be  wives  and  mothers  as  jay-birds  are  to  sing 
hymns ! " 

Here  Mrs.  Dexter  interposed. 

"  You  forget,  dear,  that  there  are  many  good  semina- 


52  TRUTH    DEXTER 

ries  and  colleges  in  the  South,  too,  —  the  Sophie  New- 
comb,  for  instance,  at  New  Orleans." 

But  Craighead  \vent  on  in  a  lordly  manner. 

"  In  these  days  it  will  not  do  to  be  provincial.  A 
course  of  European  travel  is  a  necessity.  An  acquaint- 
ance with  science,  history,  art,  and  literature  will  be  in- 
dispensable to  Miss  Dexter,  when  she  comes  to  visit  in 
the  highest  social  circles  of  Washington,  New  York,  and 
Boston." 

"  What !  "  cried  Truth,  indignantly,  "  do  you  think  I 
ever  would  come  up  to  that  cold,  horrid  North  ?  I  don't 
want  to  travel  in  Europe  !  I  don't  want  any  more  educa- 
tion, I  hate  it !  I  just  want  to  stay  here,  at  home,  forever 
and  ever !  " 

"  Yes,"  cried  the  Colonel,  "  what  would  become  of  the 
old  place  with  Truth  trapesing  around  in  female  semi- 
naries ?  They  'd  turn  it  into  a  nigger  school,  I  reckon  I 
No,  Sir !  This  is  our  homestead  !  It  may  not  seem  much 
to  you,  but  it 's  all  we  've  got,  and  I  count  on  Truth  to 
keep  it  up.  What  would  Dexterville  be  without  its  Big 
House,  and  Dexters  in  it  ?  " 

"  You  exactly  anticipate  my  thought,"  said  Craighead, 
politely.  "  Pardon  the  question,  but  can  the  old  home- 
stead continue  to  support  itself  forever  ?  Could  an  un- 
educated girl  maintain  it,  even  though  it  comes  to  her 
unincumbered  ?  " 

The  Colonel  reddened  again,  but  his  wife  looked  ear- 
nestly toward  him,  as  if  she,  too,  waited  a  decision. 

"  Hang  it !  "  he  cried,  "  no !  The  place  is  mortgaged, 
—  but  I  can't  see  that  that  has  any  interest  for  you  !  " 

Craighead  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  as  if  he  assumed 
that  the  conference  were  about  at  an  end. 

"  That  settles  it,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Without  re- 
sources, even  if  the  young  lady  managed  to  keep  alive, 
the  homestead  must  incontestably  fall  into  other  hands. 
It  is  a  natural  part  of  your  own  plans  that  she  should 
eventually  marry.  With  the  estate  freed  and  improved, 
not  to  mention  the  charms  of  her  own  cultured  mind  and 
person,  there  will  be  no  restriction  to  her  choice.  I  con- 


A    REJECTED    FORTUNE  53 

gratulate  you,  Miss  Dexter,  upon  your  good  fortune,  and 
your  ability  to  carry  out  your  grandfather's  dearest 
wish." 

Truth  gazed  upon  him  with  terror-stricken  eyes. 
Already  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  but  part  of  his  will, 
a  product  of  those  crisp,  decisive  sentences.  Mrs. 
Dexter  had  hidden  her  face.  But  the  Colonel  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  stamped  once  or  twice  on  the  hearth- 
rug as  if  trying  to  force  extraneous  energy  into  his 
fainting  soul. 

"Not  so  fast,  young  man!"  he  cried.  "I  reckon  I 
have  a  little  more  to  say  about  this,  myself.  I  think  I  '11 
go  and  have  it  out  alone.  I  '11  saddle  Black  Betty,  and 
go  into  the  woods.  I  can  always  think  things  out  better 
in  the  woods." 

Mrs.  Dexter  drew  a  long,  tremulous  sigh  of  relief. 
She  was  glad  of  the  respite.  Craighead  shrugged  his 
shoulders  slightly,  and  began  feeling  in  an  inner  pocket 
for  his  cigar-case. 

But  the  Colonel's  face  was  already  brightening.  He 
gave  Truth  a  loving  pat  on  the  shoulder  in  passing,  then 
stooped  for  a  few  moments  over  his  wife.  She  looked  up 
at  him  through  quick  tears  that  seemed  to  magnify  the 
love  and  comprehension  never  absent  from  those  brown 
depths.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  she  had  seen  him 
fly  to  the  woods  and  Black  Betty  for  solutions. 

She  and  Truth  went  to  one  of  the  library  windows  to 
see  him  ride  away.  Craighead  had  left  the  room.  The 
last  glimpse  was  of  a  jovial,  but  perplexed  face,  turned 
back  to  smile  at  them,  and  a  heavy  hand  waved  in  a  half- 
deprecating  farewell. 


CHAPTER   VII 

A   TRAGEDY   AND   A   HERO 

THREE  hours  later  Black  Betty  came  home  riderless. 
The  big  saddle  was  wrenched  far  over  to  one  side,  but 
the  stoical  beast  showed  no  consciousness  of  disarray. 
She  sauntered  up  the  lane,  stooping  now  and  then  to  a 
scant  blade  of  grass.  The  stable  door  was  open.  She 
walked  to  a  stall  and  began  nibbling  hay  from  the  rack 
overhead.  The  saddle  struck  heavily  against  the 
wooden  partitions,  and  she  looked  round  at  it,  won- 
dering, for  the  first  time,  why  the  stable-boy  was  not  in 
attendance.  But  she  nibbled  on  in  silence,  her  eyes 
expressing  patient  forgiveness  for  the  unaccustomed  neg- 
lect. Really,  life  was  becoming  very  uncertain. 

Norah  was  the  first  to  discover  her.  Mrs.  Dexter  did 
not  join  the  frantic  little  search-party.  Craighead  and 
Truth  had  started  off  at  once,  running,  wordless  and 
bareheaded,  side  by  side,  a  swiftly  accumulating  crowd 
of  darkies  forming  a  dusky  comet's  tail  behind  them. 

They  found  the  Colonel  not  very  far  from  home, 
stone  dead,  at  the  side  of  the  road.  There  was  nothing 
in  the  surroundings  to  suggest  a  stumble,  or  a  fright 
of  any  kind.  His  body  had  apparently  suffered  no 
violence,  only  his  face  was  still  darkly  suffused,  as  if 
from  an  apoplectic  stroke.  Truth  made  not  the  slightest 
sign  of  terror,  or  even  of  grief.  She  leaned  over  him 
a  moment  with  something  that  was  almost  a  smile, 
smoothed  out  his  rumpled  coat,  straightened  out  a  dis- 
torted arm,  and  then  sat  down,  like  a  child,  in  the  sand 
beside  him. 

The  negroes  gathered  about  in  a  wide  ring,  with  ges- 
tures of  insane  excitement,  and  exultant  terror.  Their 


A    TRAGEDY    AND    A    HERO  55 

eyes  rolled  horribly,  their  thick  jaws  quivered,  and  their 
low,  strained  whispers  seemed  to  be  in  a  savage  language 
of  their  own.  Craighead  swept  his  glance  about  the 
ring,  then  gave  a  peremptory  sign  and  order.  In  an 
instant  they  had  all  plunged  into  the  woods,  where  the 
cracking  of  branches  and  the  harsh  rustle  of  trampled 
leaves  accompanied  the  construction  of  a  rude  litter. 
Truth  turned  her  head  away  as  they  lifted  the  heavy 
form,  then  walked  quietly  by  its  side  until  they  reached 
the  house. 

Mrs.  Dexter  came  out  at  the  front  door,  and  down 
the  broad  steps  to  meet  them.  She  was  as  white  as  a 
corpse,  herself.  Van  wondered,  in  his  own  strangely 
stirred  heart,  how  any  living  woman  could  be  so  pale. 
The  bearers  halted,  and  old  Norah  burst  into  a  piercing 
wail. 

Mrs.  Dexter  leaned  over,  kissed  her  husband  on  the 
forehead  very  softly,  and  smoothed  his  coat  as  Truth 
had  done.  A  bit  of  twig  was  crushed  against  his  hair. 
This  she  lifted  and  held  with  careful  tenderness,  as  if  it 
were  already  a  relic.  Truth  covered  her  face,  and  for 
the  first  time  began  to  sob.  But  Mrs.  Dexter,  calm  and 
white  as  an  attendant  angel,  walked  beside  the  bier. 

"  Good  God !  "  muttered  Van,  "  what  heroines  these 
women  are ! " 

Seldom  does  a  young  man  find  himself  plunged  into  a 
vortex  of  strange  and  unexpected  circumstances  so  deli- 
cate and  embarrassing  as  these  in  which  Craighead  now 
found  himself  and  his  private  interests  submerged.  By 
a  sudden  stroke  of  fate  he  had  become  bound  to  these 
strangers,  not  only  as  fellow-mourner,  but  in  the  intimate 
relation  of  family  adviser.  He  had  planned  to  remain 
in  the  South  but  a  day  or  two  at  most,  and  pressing 
legal  business  awaited  him  at  home.  But  Craighead 
was  not  one  to  shirk  a  plain  duty,  however  burden- 
some; besides,  his  sympathies  were  strangely  aroused. 
As  the  helplessness  of  the  family  disclosed  itself,  he 
resolved  to  stand  to  the  breach  Hke  a  man. 


56  TRUTH   DEXTER 

When,  after  an  hour  or  two,  people  began  to  arrive 
from  the  village,  Craighead  realized  from  their  awkward- 
ness and  shy  withdrawal  that  they  would  never  dare  to 
assume  a  part  in  the  affairs  of  the  aristocratic  Dexters. 

"  Had  Colonel  Dexter  no  relatives  ?  "  he  asked  of  an 
intelligent-looking  woman. 

"  Lor' !  "  said  the  woman,  "  no  near  ones  that  I  ever 
heard  tell  on.  All  his  folks  an'  Miss  Dolly's  was  from 
Virginny.  Mis's  Le  Baron,  down  in  Melvin,  is  a  sort  o' 
fo'th  cousin." 

"  Send  for  her  at  once,"  said  Craighead. 

"  Miss  "  Le  Baron  came  that  night,  accompanied  by  her 
husband,  a  drawn  and  sickly  youth ;  but  that  they  should 
take  charge  of  proceedings  was  an  idea  that  never  pre- 
sented itself.  Van  saw  that  they  would  be  little  better 
than  obstacles.  In  some  vague  way  it  seemed  to  them, 
as  to  the  villagers,  that  Craighead  had  been  sent  by  a 
thoughtful  Providence  as  a  sort  of  advance  undertaker, 
and  master  of  ceremonies. 

The  next  morning  a  coroner,  a  reporter,  and  several 
grave  Southern  gentlemen  arrived  from  Montgomery. 
They,  too,  accepted  Van,  as  a  matter  of  course,  in  his 
capacity  of  major-domo.  "  He  's  de  fambly  lawyer  furn 
de  No'th,"  had  whispered  old  Norah,  confidentially. 

As  rumors  of  the  tragedy  spread,  telegrams  and  letters 
of  condolence  began  to  pour  in.  These  Van  was  forced 
to  take  upon  himself  to  answer.  Fortunately  he  had 
money  on  hand  to  meet  incidental  expenses. 

Mrs.  Dexter,  night  or  day,  never  left  her  seat  beside 
her  husband.  Grief  had  set  her  far  above  earthly  inter- 
ests, and  hour  by  hour  she  grew  more  white  and  frail, 
like  a  moon  worn  thin  at  dawn.  Mere  human  pity  would 
have  moved  Craighead  to  lift  from  her  all  material  bur- 
den ;  but  the  strange  relationship  that  had  brought  him 
into  the  gentle  woman's  life,  as  herald  of  its  supreme 
tragedy,  oppressed  him  with  a  remorseful  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility, and  stirred  in  him  a  sentiment  so  deep, 
that  already  it  seemed  a  personal  affection. 

Truth  would  have  made  an  interesting  study,  had  any 


A    TRAGEDY    AND    A    HERO  57 

one  present  noticed  her.  As  remote,  white,  and  silent, 
almost,  as  her  grandmother,  she  had  found  no  relief  in 
tears,  but  moved  around  the  house  restlessly,  trying  to 
make  herself  useful,  following  Van  frorn  room  to  room, 
like  a  child  that  dreads  to  be  left  alone.  She  seemed  to 
realize  dumbly  that  she  had  already  fallen  into  that  state 
of  loneliness  and  loss  which  Craighead,  at  the  family  in- 
terview, had  so  clearly  pictured.  lie  found  her  growing 
dependence  on  him  strangely  pathetic.  It  was  hard  to 
identify  this  heartbroken  child,  struggling  so  bravely 
against  her  first  terrible  grief,  with  the  spirited  girl 
who  had  wished,  only  two  days  before,  to  defy  him. 

On  the  evening  after  the  sad  little  burial  in  the  hill- 
side graveyard,  Mrs.  Dexter  gradually  lost  consciousness, 
and  Truth's  hitherto  passive  grief  flared  up  into  new 
agony.  She  thought  her  grandmother  was  dying,  and 
demanded,  almost  fiercely,  of  Craighead  that  he  should 
save  her. 

"I  will  take  the  next  train  for  Montgomery,"  said 
Van.  "The  first  thing  is  to  get  advice  from  good 
physicians." 

Norah  accosted  him  in  the  hall. 

"  Marse  Van,  here  's  a  little  blue  letter  done  come  fer 
you  jes'  befo'  de  funeral.  I  did  n't  like  to  gib  it  to  you 
den." 

Craighead  started  back ;  the  smell  of  the  letter  nau- 
seated him.  From  the  pure,  sad  world  of  his  new  sym- 
pathies, he  was  suddenly  plunged  back  into  a  lake  of 
fire.  He  cursed  the  weakness  that  had  seduced  him 
into  sending  that  test. 

"  Wait  a  moment ! "  he  commanded. 

Norah  remained  meekly  in  the  hall,  while  Craighead 
hurried  into  the  library,  straight  to  the  Colonel's  desk, 
where  he  could  find  stamps  and  stationery.  Selecting  an 
envelope  at  random,  he  tore  the  unopened  missive  into 
two  clean  halves,  and  enclosed  the  pieces  without  written 
comment,  inscribing  on  the  back  a  familiar  Boston 
address. 

"  Here,  Noah  I     Mail   that  quick  I "  he  cried,  as  he 


58  TRUTH    DEXTER 

came  out  with  the  letter  extended.  "And,  say,  have 
the  buggy  ready  in  time  to  catch  the  next  train !  " 

"  Lor',  Marse  Van !  you  ain't  er  gwine  to  leab  us,  is 
you?" 

"  No,  Noah.  Don't  worry  !  Take  good  care  of  joui 
mistress  until  I  get  back.  I  'm  only  going  to  consult  a 
city  doctor  about  her  health." 

"  An'  de  blessed  Sabior  knows  she  need  it !  "  said  the 
old  man  mournfully,  but  with  evident  relief. 

As  Craighead  sped  on  in  the  comfortless  night  train, 
he  could  not  sleep  for  surging  thoughts.  The  letter 
burned  like  a  scar  against  the  strained  exaltation  of  his 
mood.  He  could  not  loose  from  his  soul  a  lingering 
taint  of  indignation  and  pique.  He  turned  to  Truth  and 
Mrs.  Dexter  in  a  sort  of  virtuous  triumph,  as  if  hurl- 
ing at  the  temptress  his  share  in  the  pathetic  nobilty  of 
their  womanhood. 

He  consulted  several  physicians,  and  the  verdict  was 
always  the  same.  It  was  no  question  of  drugs  and 
tonic,  but  of  change.  After  the  nervous  collapse,  old  as- 
sociations would  be  a  swift  suicide.  She  must  be  moved 
at  once  to  some  quiet  resort  of  sea  or  mountain,  it  mat- 
tered little  which.  Mississippi  Sound  could  be  recom- 
mended. There  competent  doctors  and  nurses  were 
obtainable. 

As  Craighead  stood  waiting  at  the  Union  Station  for 
the  little  train  back  to  Dexterville,  the  big  express  for 
the  North  rumbled  in.  The  temptation  to  board  it  and 
get  back  to  his  office  was  strong  upon  him.  The  vision 
of  Orchid  smiling  in  triumph  became  a  menace.  And 
Mrs.  Dexter  could  be  saved  by  instant  action  only. 

On  the  ride  back  he  plunged  deeper  into  the  delicate 
problem  that  lay  before  him.  He  knew  that  he  alone 
would  be  able  to  uproot  his  new  friends  from  the  soil  of 
their  grief-stricken  home.  Nothing  but  change  could 
save  Mrs.  Dexter  from  death,  and  poor  Truth  from  the 
ultimate  misfortune  he  had  predicted.  The  question  of 
the  will  returned  with  redoubled  insistence.  How  long 
would  they  need  to  be  away  ?  Months,  the  doctors  had 


A    TRAGEDY    AND    A    HERO  59 

said.  How  much  would  it  cost  ?  Craighead  had  paid 
expenses,  so  far,  out  of  his  own  pocket.  They  must 
accept  the  fortune  !  But  these  two  martyrs  would  be 
all  the  surer,  now,  to  sacrifice  themselves  upon  the  altar 
of  the  dead  Colonel's  wishes.  Neither  was  in  a  condition 
for  argument.  He  racked  his  brain  to  find  a  way  of 
escape  from  this  closed  circle. 

Arriving  at  the  Big  House  in  the  afternoon,  he 
inquired  first  after  Mrs.  Dexter' s  health. 

"  Wuss  an'  wuss  !  "  declared  old  Norah,  choking  back 
his  tears.  "  Dis  mornin'  me  an'  Miss  Troof  lef  her  a 
minnit,  caze  she  seem  so  fas'  asleep,  an'  de  fust  ting 
we  knowed,  she  wuz  in  a  dead  swoon  at  de  bottom  of  de 
gyardin  on  de  way  to  de  buryin'-groun',  her  po'  little 
han's  chuck  full  er  dem  little  white  hangin'  flowers  dey 
calls  snow-draps,  dat  ole  Marster  wuz  so  lovin'  wid." 
The  old  negro  shuffled  away  sobbing,  his  coat-sleeve  to 
his  eyes. 

Craighead  went  at  once  into  the  library,  and  began 
looking  over  papers  in  the  Colonel's  desk.  After  the 
close  work  of  an  hour,  he  had  achieved  a  mastery  of 
conditions.  The  Colonel's  small  income  ceased  with 
his  death.  The  mortgage  on  the  farm  was  not  heavy, 
but  the  farm  itself  did  not  pay  expenses.  There  was  no 
life  insurance.  Mrs.  Dexter,  in  all  probability,  had  not 
enough  cash  about  her  to  pay  the  funeral  expenses.  He 
and  his  wits  alone  stood  between  these  two  women  and 
voluntary  beggary. 

As  he  was  frowning  away  in  the  midst  of  these  calcu- 
lations, Truth  came  in  upon  him.  She  started  back  in 
indignation,  and  her  eyes  gathered  something  of  their 
old  fire.  Van  rose  and  offered  her  a  chair. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Dexter,"  he  began,  "  it  must  pain  you 
deeply  to  see  a  stranger  at  your  grandfather's  desk. 
The  situation  is  even  more  painful  to  me.  But  some- 
thing must  be  done.  You  have  no  one  else  to  help  you, 
and  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  know  at  once  the 
state  of  the  Colonel's  affairs." 

She  seated  herself  in  silence. 


60  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Your  grandmother  is  worse,  I  hear." 

She  gave  a  nod  and  a  little  dry  sob.  "  Did  Uncle 
Norah  tell  you?" 

"  Yes,  it  was  heart  rending." 

"  But  what  did  the  doctor  say  ?  " 

"  That  she  must  go  at  once  to  the  mountains  or  the 
sea." 

A  look  of  bewilderment  passed  into  the  girl's  pale  face. 

"  Why,  she  's  too  sick  to  go  travelling !  " 

"  It  is  her  only  chance." 

The  bewilderment  faded  out  into  helplessness. 

"  But  where  can  we  take  her?" 

"  We  !  Miss  Dexter,  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  assist  you 
in  preparations,  but  I  fear  you  will  have  to  take  her  to 
the  Gulf,  alone.  I  must  be  getting  back  to  my  work  in 
the  North." 

The  helplessness  became  blank  hopelessness.  She 
looked  at  him  in  a  kind  of  terror. 

"  Me !  "  she  faltered.  "  I  was  never  away  from  home 
in  my  life  !  I  don't  know  —  I  could  try  —  but  I  thought 
—  you  —  "  she  broke  off  in  embarrassment. 

Craighead  wanted  to  say,  "  What  right  have  I  to  act 
for  you  now  that  you  have  rejected  my  offer !  "  but  he 
restrained  himself. 

The  girl  lifted  her  head,  and  looked  far  away  through 
the  window  with  big,  sunken,  miserable  eyes. 

Craighead  was  strangely  moved.  By  what  ties  was 
he  becoming  bound  to  this  child  ?  He  must  make  the 
most  of  his  evident  power  over  her. 

"  Truth  1  "  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Truth !  " 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  used  her  per- 
sonal name.  She  gave  a  start,  brought  her  eyes  to  his, 
and  began  to  color  faintly. 

"  Tell  me  what  I  can  do,"  she  whispered. 

Craighead  rose  and  came  nearer,  but  she  did  not 
shrink  from  him. 

"  My  poor,  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  your  grandmother 
will  die  if  we  don't  act  at  once.  Some  one  has  got  to 
decide  things.  Shall  I  try  to  think  out  a  way  ?  " 


A    TRAGEDY    AND    A    HERO  61 

"  Oh,  if  you  only  would  !  "  she  pleaded.  "  Somehow  I 
can't  seem  to  think  or  feel,  or  even  remember.  I  must 
be  wicked  not  to  suffer  more.  But  I  am  all  dead  inside, 
like  dry  moss.  I  can't  even  cry,  much." 

Craighead  looked  into  the  eyes  whose  reproach  was  a 
lack  of  tears.  It  was  an  experience  for  him,  and  Ids  feel- 
ings were  mixed.  Probably  the  lawyer  was  uppermost, 

"  Truth,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  promise  me  one 
thing.  I  want  you  to  promise  to  do  what,  after  careful 
thinking,  I  may  decide.  Your  grandmother  cannot  be 
consulted.  You  must  give  me  power  to  act  in  her 
place  ;  otherwise  I  have  no  right  to  stay  here.  Will 
you  promise?" 

The  girl,  ignorant  though  she  was,  knew  that  she  was 
being  nerved  for  some  test  which  she  could  not  yet  un- 
derstand, but  she  did  not  shrink  from  it.  She  met  his 
intent  look  squarely,  as  she  said,  — 

"  Just  tell  me  what  to  do.  If  it  is  to  save  her,  I  will 
do  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Truth.     You  are  a  brave  girl !  " 

The  sympathy  in  his  voice  made  her  tremble.  She 
gave  one  great,  suffocating  sob,  tried  to  speak,  but  fail- 
ing, put  up  one  hand  to  her  throat,  and  fled. 

Armed  with  Truth's  promise,  Craighead  returned  to 
his  room,  and  sat  long  before  the  cold  and  empty 
fireplace,  thinking.  No  one  had  thought  to  start  a 
fire  for  him.  The  sphinxes  sat  upon  their  haunches 
like  grim  watchdogs,  waiting  for  a  tossed  crumb  of 
thought. 

He  weighed  every  argument  he  could  bring  to  bear 
on  Truth  to  induce  her  to  accept  the  fortune.  In  spite 
of  the  promise,  he  ended  baffled  by  an  instinctive  feeling 
that  she  might  refuse,  even  in  the  face  of  death.  To 
force  her  would  seem  inhuman.  Had  he  a  right  to  do 
it  ?  In  what  possible  way  could  he  acquire  that  right  ? 
She  was  left  practically  without  a  guardian,  and  under 
age.  After  Mrs.  Dexter's  death  she  would  become  even 
more  unreasonable.  In  all  probability  she  would  prefer 
to  die  also,  rather  than  accept  the  money.  He  must 


62  TRUTH    DEXTER 

save  both ;  act,  as  it  were,  for  guardian  of  both,  but 
how? 

Slowly  the  night  came  in  and  blurred  the  outlines 
of  the  sphinxes.  Craighead  himself  might  have  been 
moulded  of  bronze,  so  quiet  and  stern  was  his  posture. 

He  was  thinking  of  himself  now ;  of  how  he  had  come 
into  this  strange  situation,  and  of  the  second  tragic  aspect 
his  relation  with  Orchid  had  given  it.  He  did  not  want 
to  go  back  to  Boston  to  meet  her.  Even  his  insult  of 
the  returned  letter  might  not  have  been  sufficient  to  un- 
mesh  her  subtle  strategy.  He  hated  her  for  the  faint  self- 
suspicion  that  he  might  be  entrapped  once  more.  He  felt 
that  his  safety  lay  in  distance.  He  would  like  to  stay 
indefinitely  in  the  South ;  yes,  even  to  go  to  Biloxi  with 
the  Dexters,  to  be  a  son  to  Mrs.  Dexter,  a  brother  to 
Truth ! 

But  the  money !  He,  a  young  lawyer,  could  not  af- 
ford to  leave  his  business  and  support  these  strangers. 
Neither  had  he  the  right  to  make  inroads  upon  Eugene 
Dexter's  estate.  If  he  were  only  rich ! 

A  servant  summoned  him  to  tea.  Truth  did  not  ap- 
pear, and  he  sat  at  the  table  alone,  his  thoughts  burning 
on.  He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  resource  so  terrific'that 
it  frightened  him.  He  proved  to  himself  that  it  was  no 
question  of  selling  his  soul  to  the  devil.  It  was  a  double 
cure,  a  defence  against  danger  in  the  North,  and  a  war- 
rant to  justify  him  in  alleviating  sorrow  and  penury  in 
the  South.  It  brought  Orchid  and  Truth  together  in 
a  single  picture,  and  he  shrank  from  the  former.  It 
was  a  Napoleonic  piece  of  strategy  that  must  be  de- 
cided in  a  flash  of  genius. 

The  night  was  calm  and  gentle,  as  if  conscious  of  the 
grief  which  it  might  help  to  soothe.  The  moonlight  flat- 
tened itself  against  the  windows,  cold  and  green.  Craig- 
head  pushed  back  his  heavy  chair,  and  deliberately  went 
in  search  of  Truth. 

He  found  her  in  the  garden,  pacing  the  white  driveway, 
white  with  the  rich  February  stars  above  her,  and  the 
moon  just  spurning  the  tallest  pines.  His  feet  crunched 


A    TRAGEDY    AND    A    HERO  63 

the  gravel  as  though  it  had  been  snow.  She  made  no 
sign  of  recognition  as  he  approached,  but,  as  he  reached 
her  side,  began  to  talk  softly. 

"  It 's  nearly  March.  The  big  blue  violets  are  up,  and 
the  dogwood-trees  are  all  in  bloom.  I  used  to  call  it 
fairies'  pop-corn.  It  looks  like  pop-corn." 

Craighead  fell  into  step  beside  her. 

"  '  When  dogwood 's  white, 
Fishers'  delight  ! '  ' 

she  quoted.  "  Every  first  dogwood  day  we  always 
went."  Her  voice  trembled  a  little.  "  We  had  lots 
of  fishin'  nooks  we  called  '  ours.'  Nobody  else  knew 
about  'em.  He  loved  to  fish,  an'  he  always  took  me. 
But  now  —  somehow  —  it  don't  seem  like  it  was  really 
me  that  went." 

"  Poor  little  girl !  "  said  Craighead  gently,  as  he  took 
one  of  her  hands  in  his.  He  pitied,  indeed,  but  was  glad 
to  find  her  in  this  chastened  mood.  She  seemed  grateful 
for  the  pressure  of  a  friendly  hand,  and  allowed  hers  to 
remain  in  his  clasp,  as  they  walked  along.  Much  of  her 
shyness  had  melted  in  this  great  crucible  of  sorrow. 

"  Truth !  You  don't  dislike  me  as  much  as  you  did 
at  first,  do  you?" 

"  No !  no  !  Please  don't  remember  it !  I  'm  sorry 
now.  It  was  only  —  " 

"  Don't  mind  it  a  bit !  I  sha'n't  ever  think  of  it  again. 
You  have  confidence  in  me  now,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes,  lots!" 

"  Now  that  you  have  promised  to  let  me  act  for  you 
and  grandma,  I  have  been  thinking  it  all  out." 

She  made  no  remark,  only  looked  up  at  him,  dumbly. 

"  We  have  got  to  save  your  grandmother,  you  and  I. 
We  must  get  her  well." 

"Yes,"  said  Truth,  eagerly,  "we  must  get  her  well." 
Then  her  childish  voice  trembled.  "  But,  Mr.  Craig- 
head,  do  you  know,  I  've  thought  —  I  've  been  thinking, 
that  maybe  she  don't  want  to  get  well.  She  might  be 
glad  to  follow  —  him." 


64  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  She  must  not  do  that,  for  your  sake,  Truth.  We 
must  save  her  in  spite  of  herself.  But  she  has  to  go  to 
the  seaside  at  once.  Could  n't  you  take  her  if  that  were 
the  only  way  ?  " 

"  I  could  try  to  do  anything,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  would 
die  for  her  this  minute !  " 

"  That  would  n't  do  any  good.  Perhaps  you  have  got 
to  learn  to  live  for  her." 

Truth  looked  at  him  in  wonder.  He  gazed  back  with 
keen  eyes. 

"  Now,  Truth,  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  tell  you  some- 
thing about  myself.  I  know  you  want  me  —  you  need 
me  —  to  go  to  Biloxi  with  you,  and  I  am  ready  to  do  so. 
But  I  have  been  thinking  whether  it  is  quite  right  for 
me  to  go.  You  know  I  am  sent  down  here  by  others, 
and  I  ought  to  go  back  and  tell  them  of  your  grand- 
father's sad  death." 

She  was  gazing  into  his  face  with  painful  intensity. 
He  continued  with  some  embarrassment:  — 

"  Now  the  trouble  is  this.  I  don't  like  to  leave  you 
without  money.  Indeed,  I  don't  see  how  you  are  to 
go  without  money.  Hotels  and  doctors  are  expensive, 
and  your  grandfather  had  nothing  to  leave  you  but 
the  farm,  —  the  plantation,  I  mean.  I  don't  think  your 
grandmother  has  enough  money  even  to  go  on  living 
here." 

He  thought  she  would  be  crushed  by  this  announce- 
ment, but  she  seemed,  if  anything,  relieved.  She  feared 
death,  but  not  poverty.  She  had  always  been  used  to 
that. 

"  But,  my  poor  Truth !  I  see  you  don't  quite  under- 
stand. There  were  a  great,  great  many  expenses  con- 
nected with  the  funeral,  and  the  money  had  to  come 
from  somewhere.  Now  your  journey  is  going  to  cost 
even  more,  and  I  would  gladly  advance  it  to  you,  if  I 
had  it.  But  as  you  know,  even  my  own  expenses  here 
are  paid  by  others,  and  I  have  no  right  —  " 

Truth  drew  her  hand  away  in  evident  doubt  and 
trouble.  She  did  not  mistake  his  delicacy ;  but  mingled 


A    TRAGEDY    AND    A    HERO  65 

feelings  of  gratitude  and  resentful  pride,  and  a  dim 
realization  of  some  terrible  issue,  overcame  her. 

"  Truth,"  he  went  on  quickly,  rushing  to  the  attack, 
"  I  have  thought  it  all  over,  and  there  is  but  one  way. 
You  must  help  me  to  justify  the  responsibility  I  had  to 
take.  I  came  here  to  help  you  all,  and  you  rejected  me. 
In  spite  of  that,  I  could  n't  leave  you.  Now  only  one 
word  from  you,  and  I  need  not  leave  you  at  all.  I  shall 
have  every  right  to  stay  on  and  serve  you." 

He  leaned  forward  eagerly,  but  she  had  half  turned 
away,  with  lips  set  close  and  eyes  upon  the  ground. 
This  was  no  place  to  stop. 

"  Truth,  you  must  accept  your  uncle's  money  !  " 

She  recoiled  a  step,  and  stood  staring  at  him  with 
horrified  eyes. 

"  Take  the  money !  "  she  gasped.  "  You  don't  mean 
that !  How  dare  you  say  it !  Don't  you  know  it  was 
thinkin'  of  that  that  killed  him?" 

This  was  the  issue,  as  he  had  foreseen ;  and  now  it 
was  a  battle  of  wills. 

"  Truth,  listen !  I  know  all  that.  I  have  thought  of 
all  that.  But  you  just  now  said  that  you  would  gladly 
die  for  your  grandmother." 

"And  I  would!"  she  cried.  "You  know  I  would. 
But  this—!" 

"Truth,  did  you  not  promise  this  afternoon  to  obey 
me?" 

"  Anything  but  this ! " 

"  But  this  is  the  only  thing  possible  !  You  are  old 
enough  to  understand  me.  Listen !  If  you  refuse  to  de- 
cide now,  your  only  remaining  guardian  —  your  grand- 
mother—  will  surely  die."  Truth  threw  out  her  hands 
with  a  stifled  cry.  "  Then  you  will  be  forced  to  decide, 
in  any  case ;  but  it  will  be  too  late  to  save  her." 

Truth's  desperation  cut  sheer  through  his  logic. 

"  Grandma  would  never  say  '  yes,'  even  if  I  did." 

"  That  is  just  why  we  must  decide  without  asking 
her." 

"  But  if  she  is  my  guardian,  can  I  do  it  without  her?" 

6 


66  TRUTH    DEXTER 

He  had  not  thought  the  girl  capable  of  this.  It  would 
force  him  more  quickly  than  he  had  intended  back  upon 
his  last  line  of  reserves.  But  there  was  one  more 
chance. 

"Strictly  speaking,  no!"  he  answered  slowly  and 
reluctantly.  "  Unless  we  have  a  right  to  assume  that, 
after  your  grandmother's  recovery,  she  will  ratify  our 
action.  I,  for  one,  do  not  believe  that  she  could  do 
otherwise." 

"Then  would  you  be  glad  that  we  had  tricked  her 
while  she  was  sick,  and  made  her  do  what  grandpa 
didn't  want?" 

"  Your  grandfather  never  came  to  a  decision." 

"  Yes,  but  you  knew  what  he  thought  about  it,  and  I 
have  already  refused  twice." 

"  That  was  in  mere  childish  irritation,  dear  Truth. 
You  are  no  child  now.  Suffering  and  responsibility  are 
making  you  a  woman.  And  you  cannot  afford  to  think 
of  yourself.  It  is  your  grandma's  life  that  concerns  us. 
Just  think  of  her  dying  for  need  of  proper  food  and 
attendance,  and  you  left  alone,  an  orphan,  with  nothing 
to  pay  the  interest  of  the  mortgage." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  the  mortgage,  and  I 
don't  care  1  "  the  poor,  tortured  child  broke  out.  "  If 
mummie  dies  I  'm^goin'  to  die  too,  for  there 's  nothin'  to 
live  for." 

"  Do  you  think  your  grandpa  would  want  you  to  die  ? 
Don't  you  know  that  it  was  his  dearest  wish  that  you 
would  keep  up  the  old  place  ?  " 

She  did  not  attempt  an  answer.  She  saw  no  way  out 
but  death  and  death.  But  she  was  unconquered. 

"  Grandma  herself  would  curse  me  for  it,"  she  said  at 
length,  as  if  to  herself.  "  I  can't !  I  just  can't !  " 

Craighead  became  desperate.  There  was  no  resource 
but  to  throw  himself  into  the  breach.  It  was  the  crisis 
of  his  own  life. 

"Truth!     Truth!" 

He  came  to  her,  took  both  of  her  cold  hands  in  his,  and 
held  them  as  in  a  vise.  She  tried  to  lift  her  face,  but 


A    TRAGEDY   AND    A    HERO  67 

could  not.  Something  in  the  man's  sheer,  overpowering 
will  made  her  tremble. 

"  Truth,  I  understand.  To  accept  this  money  would 
seem  to  you  a  scar  upon  your  grandmother's  conscience, 
a  blot  upon  her  honor  and  your  own.  I  will  not  urge 
you  further  to  make  ,that  sacrifice.  But  there  is  one 
other  way  —  in  which  you  can  let  me  save  you  —  only 
one  other  way.  I  can  think  of  only  one  other  way !  " 

Truth  looked  up  in  his  face  at  last,  startled  by  his 
earnestness.  Van  was  embarrassed,  and  very  pale. 

"  Your  grandfather  —  intended  that  you  should  marry. 
You  are  under  age  —  your  husband  would  have  full 
right  to  decide  for  you.  Ought  a  man  to  stand  pas- 
sively by,  and  see  the  triumph  of  narrow  prejudice,  and 
not  lift  a  hand?  Ought  he  to  see  wilful  murder  and 
suicide  ?  " 

Truth  trembled  piteously.  She  did  not  understand 
the  strange  words,  and  the  man's  expression  terrified 
her. 

"  Your  husband  would  have  a  noble,  a  holy  right  to 
save  you,  —  conscience,  soul,  and  body.  Whose  is  the 
greater  sacrifice  ?  You  must  marry,  Truth,  —  at  once  !  " 

"  Marry ! "  repeated  the  girl,  pale  and  red  by  turns. 
"  Who  would  I  marry  ?  There  is  n't  anybody !  " 

"  You  must  marry  me,  Truth  !  " 

If  his  clasp  on  her  hands  strengthened,  she  did  not 
feel  it.  Amazement  had  excluded  self-consciousness. 
She  could  not  believe  her  ears.  Marry  Mr.  Craighead  ! 
Marry  a  stranger,  —  a  lawyer,  —  a  Yankee  !  Had  Orion 
jumped  down  from  the  constellation  above,  and  walked 
up  the  garden  path,  she  could  not  have  been  more 
astounded. 

**  Do  you  —  do  you  mean  it  ?  "  she  faltered  at  last. 

"  From  my  soul !  " 

She  gave  a  long,  tremulous  sigh  that  was  half  a  sob. 
*'  I  did  n't  know  —  I  did  n't  think  that  folks  could  just 
get  married  this  way  —  like  business.  I  thought  —  " 

She  stopped,  blushing  in  confusion. 

"  You   thought,"   he   said   bitterly,    "  that  marriages 


68  TRUTH    DEXTER 

were  all  made  in  heaven,  with  love  as  master  of  cere- 
monies. I  once  thought  that  way  myself,  but  have 
long  ago  found  out  the  mistake.  People  marry  for 
many  different  reasons,  and  we  have  a  nobler  one  than 
the  average  in  our  joint  desire  to  save  Mrs.  Dexter's 
life  and  property.  I  could  n't  ask  or  expect  that  you 
would  love  a  crabbed  fellow  like  me,  Truth ;  but  at 
least  I  can  be  a  good  friend  to  you,  and  a  son  to  your 
grandmother.  You  will  merely  be  giving  me  a  legal 
right  to  help  you  both." 

His  voice  died  away.  In  the  silence,  a  little  screech- 
owl  far  down  in  the  branch  sent  up  its  shrill,  curdled 
warning. 

Truth  withdrew  her  hands  slowly.  This  was  indeed 
a  responsibility  for  her  to  decide.  No  one,  not  even  the 
dear  grandmother,  could  lift  this  burden  from  her. 

"  I  never  knew  much  about  marriages,"  she  said,  "  ex- 
cept grandma  and  —  him.  I  reckon  that  was  the  kind 
made  in  heaven." 

Her  voice  was  full  of  a  pathos  that  was  at  once  child- 
ish and  womanly. 

Craighead  was  silent.  He  looked  out  over  the  cold, 
neglected  garden.  The  strained  breathing  of  the  girl 
came  to  him  like  tangible  pangs  of  pain.  This  girl  had 
already,  perhaps,  dreamed  of  love  as  her  portion.  What 
right  had  he  to  shut  her  away  from  that  highest  form  of 
human  happiness  ?  And,  for  himself,  —  what  did  he 
really  know  of  her  ?  Might  she  not  put  him  to  shame 
before  his  Boston  friends  ? 

But  it  was  too  late  to  hesitate.  His  final  decision  had 
been  made  alone,  at  the  supper  table.  He  could  not  con- 
vict himself  of  sordid  motives.  It  was  Truth's  one 
chance.  She  seemed  to  have  a  noble  nature,  and  a 
ready  wit.  With  the  right  to  spend  her  fortune  upon 
her,  what  might  he  not  make  of  her?  His  restless,  bril- 
liant mind  shot  forward  into  the  future,  and  he  saw  her 
improved  both  in  mind  and  person,  sympathetic,  con- 
genial, a  woman  of  whom  he  could  be  proud.  And 
Orchid  I  What  would  she  say  and  think  ?  At  least  it 


A    TRAGEDY    AND    A    HERO  69 

would  justify,  —  confirm  forever,  the  breach   that  had 
opened  between  them. 

He  brought  his  eyes  again  to  Truth,  to  the  strange 
child  that  would  soon  be  his  wife.  "  Well,  little  girl," 
he  said  kindly,  "  what  is  the  answer  ?  You  cannot  hesi- 
tate. The  day  we  are  married  I  shall  start  with  you  and 
your  grandmother  to  the  Gulf.  There  she  will  soon 
regain  health  and  strength.  If  you  refuse  — 

"  Oh,  no,  I  won't  hesitate,"  she  began.     "  I  — 

"  One  moment !  "  Craighead  interrupted.  He  took 
her  by  both  slender  shoulders,  and  looked  gravely  into 
her  face,  as  he  said,  — 

"  Before  your  final  answer,  my  dear  Truth,  it  is  only 
fair  that  I  should  say  this.  I  am  a  hard-working,  serious 
fellow,  nearly  twice  your  age.  A  bad  bargain,  I  fear ! 
But  I  promise  you  that  I  will  accept  your  confidence  as 
a  sacred  charge.  Were  I  romantic  enough  I  might  tell 
you  that  my  heart  had  been  charred,  and  that  this,  per- 
haps, makes  me  crustier  than  I  might  otherwise  be.  But 
I  pledge  myself  to  be  a  son  to  Mrs.  Dexter,  and  a  true 
friend  to  you.  However,  if,  after  you  come  to  learn 
more  of  the  world,  you  should  repent  of  this  hasty  step, 
I  shall  never  attempt  to  hold  you.  I  shall  always  con- 
sider myself  the  bound  one,  and  you  the  free.  I  believe 
that  is  all  to  be  said  at  present.  And  now  I  ask  you 
again  —  will  you  marry  me?" 

Truth  did  not  hang  her  head  this  time. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Craighead,  I  will  marry  you  for  grandma's 
sake.  And,"  here  she  dropped  her  eyes,  and  a  tiny 
flicker  of  a  smile  came  to  her  pale  lips,  "  I  don't  believe 
that  you  are  nearly  twice  as  old  as  me  !  " 

Craighead  laughed  brightly.  "  Well,  it  is  a  bargain ! 
Can  you  be  ready  by  Saturday  ?  " 

"  Saturday  1     Why,  that 's  only  three  days  ! " 

"  Mrs.  Dexter  cannot  afford  to  wait.  We  shall  have 
to  let  her  know,  and  we  had  better  go  through  the  form 
of  asking  her  at  once.  We  will  tell  her  that  it  is  our 
own  agreement,  and  say  nothing  about  the  will.  She 
will  not  refuse.  Shall  we  go  ?  " 


70  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Yes." 

They  walked  to  the  house  without  another  word.  It 
was  as  Vau  had  judged.  Mrs.  Dexter  was  calm,  sweet, 
and  submissive,  too  dazed  to  be  astonished  or  inquisitive. 
She  felt  instinctively  that  it  must  be  right.  Earthly  in- 
terests were  still  unreal,  and  the  slow,  shuddering  sobs 
that  she  heard  from  Truth  all  night  might  be  those  of 
happiness  as  well  as  of  distress. 


CHAPTER   VIII 
WHO  SAID  "JEANNE  D'ARC"? 

THREE  days  later  a  strange,  pathetic  little  wedding  took 
place  in  the  big  parlor.  Mrs.  Dexter,  arrayed  for  trav- 
elling, had  been  moved  in  on  cushions.  Besides  an 
Episcopal  clergyman  summoned  from  the  city,  Mr.  and 
"Miss"  Le  Baron  were  the  only  guests.  A  sobbing 
group  of  darkies  clustered  like  brown  shadows  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room.  Only  in  old  Uncle  Norah's  eye 
shone  a  sort  of  demoniac  joy. 

To  the  humblest  consciousness  the  air  was  heavy  with 
a  sense  of  tragedy.  For  the  domestics  the  occasion  was 
like  a  second  funeral,  an  inevitable  and  rapid  outcome 
of  the  first.  Mrs.  Dexter's  dazed  white  face  was  the 
focus  of  attention,  the  centre  of  the  doubt  and  agony  of 
the  plot;  and  all  could  see  how  she  struggled  against 
her  soul's  paralysis  for  a  keener  recognition  of  the 
meaning  of  it  all.  Even  the  cousins  realized  that  it 
was  her  thread  of  life  which  the  principals  were  so 
bravely  weaving  into  their  new  tie. 

For  Truth  the  service  seemed  directed  to  a  vague 
semblance  of  herself,  bound  by  a  shadowy  band  to  the 
semblance  of  a  man  beside  her.  In  the  midst  of  a  final 
prayer,  when  she  and  this  haunting  man-shadow  were 
made  to  kneel  before  an  automatic  speaker  in  white 
robes,  there  came  a  faint  tap  at  the  window.  She 
almost  tortured  it  into  the  magic  of  a  reprieve.  It  was 
an  old-fashioned  French  window  that  opened  upon  a 
gallery,  where  one  blind  had  been  thrown  back;  and 
there,  behind  the  lowest  pane  of  glass,  stood  an  old  red 
rooster  gazing  critically  into  the  hushed  room.  Truth 
choked  down  an  hysterical  laugh.  Never,  to  the  end 


72  TRUTH    DEXTER 

of  her  life,  would  she  be  able  to  forget  the  inquisitive 
gravity  of  that  fowl's  expression.  She  was  afterwards 
wont  to  declare  it  the  only  real  part  of  the  ceremony. 

Mrs.  Le  Baron  stole  many  shy  glances  at  Craighead's 
finely  cut  features,  and  was  quite  overcome  to  think 
this  lordly  being  now  in  a  state  of  transformation  into  a 
"  Fo'th  cousin  "  to  herself.  When  all  was  over,  she  felt 
it  her  duty,  as  the  sole  female  relative  present,  to  go  up 
and  kiss  him;  but  she  couldn't  muster  the  courage,  and 
departed  with  her  husband  after  a  few  funereal  congrat- 
ulations. The  city  minister  was  more  at  ease,  having 
been  cheered  by  a  glimpse  at  the  bill  which  the  bride- 
groom had  slipped  into  his  hand.  There  was  no  attempt 
at  a  wedding-breakfast  or  hospitality  of  any  sort.  Truth 
withdrew  at  once  to  her  grandmother's  couch,  while  the 
little  company  noiselessly  dispersed.  Norah  lingered 
last  of  all  to  whisper  mysteriously  to  Van  that  the 
"  coach  "  would  be  ready  in  an  hour. 

During  the  brief  interval  since  his  betrothal  Craighead 
had  been  working  with  a  Napoleonic  mastery  of  com- 
binations. Not  only  was  the  Big  House  ready  to  be 
closed,  with  the  old  negro  left  in  charge,  not  only  had 
trunks,  and  valises,  and  shawls  been  already  forwarded 
to  the  little  station,  where  the  ticket  clerk  was  proudly 
displaying  them  to  an  excited  chorus  of  loafers,  but  for 
two  days  he  had  been  sending  despatches  North  and 
South,  through  pine  groves  and  cypress  swamps,  and 
along  the  margin  of  the  warm,  white  Gulf  coast.  A 
corner  suite  had  been  engaged  at  the  leading  Biloxi 
hotel,  a  drawing-room  bespoken  on  the  Southern  Pacific 
Flyer  from  Montgomery,  a  special  parlor-car  brought 
up,  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  branch  road, 
from  the  latter  metropolis  to  Dexterville,  and,  more 
than  all,  a  city  coach  and  horses  landed  from  a  freight- 
car,  amid  a  shower  of  admiring  expletives.  The  old 
sleepy  village  had  been  galvanized  into  an  excitement 
such  as  it  had  not  known  since  the  capture  of  Mobile. 
The  station  clerk  would  have  scorned  to  change  places 
with  the  President  himself. 


WHO    SAID    "JEANNE    D'ARC"?       73 

When  the  time  for  starting  came,  Mrs.  Dexter,  lifted 
out  on  the  arms  of  Van  and  Norah,  stared  bewildered 
at  the  shining,  varnished  equipage  drawn  up  before  the 
door.  The  strangeness  of  it  all  seemed  to  overcome 
her,  and  her  head  sank  wearily  to  Van's  shoulder.  As 
for  Truth,  it  was  merely  part  of  a  fairy-godmother 
mystery,  bound  up  with  an  agony  of  grief,  which  itself 
was  growing  unreal.  Norah  had  begged  from  Yan,  as 
a  final  boon,  that  he  might  displace  the  cockaded  driver 
who  had  been  sent  from  the  city  livery  stable. 

"I  don't  want  no  fool  dood  city  nigger  a-drivin'  my 
ole  Miss  to  her  own  station, "  he  had  said.  And  now, 
mounting  beside  the  indignant  hireling,  he  seized  the 
reins,  and  shouted  over  the  side,  "  Marse  Van !  Is  you 
all  safe  inside  ?  Shore  you  ain't  forgotten  nothin'  ? 
Den,  golly!  we 'se  off!  Git  out  de  way,  you  gawpin' 
niggers,  you!  Didn't  you  nebber  see  a  co'ch  befo' ? 
Now,  jes  watch  your  Uncle  Norah  dribe  de  fiery 
chariot! " 

And  in  another  instant  the  old  man  was  jerked  to  his 
feet,  and  his  hat  sent  into  the  air,  as  the  well-fed  steeds, 
seeing  the  sweep  of  a  whip  out  of  the  corner  of  their 
blood-shot  eyes,  darted  down  the  lane  and  over  the 
"  raid  ridge  "  at  a  speed  which  was  new  to  that  district 
of  farm  horses  and  plodding  mules.  It  was  more  than 
fortunate  that  Mrs.  Dexter  had  been  propped  up  by 
many  downy  cushions. 

As  she  was  carried  through  the  waiting-room  to  her 
car,  the  curious  crowd  withdrew  on  each  side  respect- 
fully, and  many  of  the  unkempt  heads  bowed  with  an 
instinct  of  unconscious  chivalry  before  the  pale,  bereaved 
lady,  who  seemed  suddenly  lifted  by  this  Yankee  necro- 
mancer to  realms  of  long-lost  splendor.  Truth  walked 
modestly  in  the  rear,  laden  with  the  last  hand-baggage, 
and  almost  as  unnoticed  as  a  lady's  maid  in  her  plain 
black  dress.  She  was  still  only  "the  Colonel's  little 
girl,"  for  her  marriage  was  practically  forgotten  in  the 
regal  ceremonies  of  despatching  a  "special  Pullman." 

When  everything  was  complete,  the  ladies  ensconced 


74  TRUTH    DEXTER 

in  their  pleasant  car,  the  last  trunk  and  parcel  on  board, 
the  engineer  alert  with  his  face  out  of  the  side  window, 
Van  signified  to  the  station-agent  that  he  was  ready. 

This  important  functionary,  who  had  got  himself  up 
for  the  occasion  in  a  new  bright  pink  tie,  had  been 
parading  the  platform  in  a  fever  of  anxious  anticipation. 

"  L —  l-let  her  go !  Jim !  "  he  exploded. 

The  greasy  machine  shrieked  in  a  way  it  had  never 
dared  before ;  and  as  the  little  special  slipped  down  the 
steep  grade  beyond  the  sand-bank,  the  crowd  of  spec- 
tators rushed  to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  and  peered 
along  the  gleaming  metals  which  sent  back  telegraphic 
clicks  of  its  accelerating  progress. 

"Well,  I'll  be  dog-goned,"  said  the  agent,  straight- 
ening himself  up,  "ef  that  blamed  Yankee  dood  ain't 
got  a  whole  gold-mine  in  his  pants  pocket!  I  reckon 
Dexterville  needn't  kick,  ef  he  has  swiped  the  girl!  " 

A  simple  luncheon  had  been  prepared  in  the  end  of 
the  car  opposite  to  where  Mrs.  Dexter  lay.  Truth 
accepted  Van's  invitation  to  join  him  at  the  table,  but 
she  ate  almost  nothing,  and  conversation  lagged. 

The  stress  of  Craighead's  planning  was  over  for  the 
moment,  and  he  had  leisure  to  notice  the  awkwardness 
with  which  his  wife  was  trying  to  swallow  her  oyster 
stew.  His  wife !  The  thought  came  with  a  queer  sur- 
prise. The  wedding  had  hardly  been  more  to  him  than 
a  link  in  the  chain  of  preparations.  Since  his  betrothal 
he  had  spoken  with  Truth  only  on  matters  of  business. 
As  he  now  paid  her  the  ordinary  attentions  of  table 
etiquette,  he  felt  almost  as  one  might  feel  toward  a 
chance  travelling  companion  of  the  opposite  sex. 

Truth  could  not  have  told  which  of  the  many  strange 
and  bewildering  occurrences  of  the  last  few  days  she 
was  thinking  of  most.  She  felt  that  the  rooster  had 
understood  the  situation  better  than  any  one  else.  She 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  salt- 
cellar. 

"I'm  —  I'm  goin'  back  to  grandma,  now,  Mr.  Craig- 
head,"  she  remarked,  after  a  very  short  tete-d-tete. 


WHO    SAID    "JEANNE    D'ARC"?       75 

Craighead  sprang  to  assist  her  from  her  chair,  an  atten- 
tion which  confused  her  greatly. 

The  change  of  cars  at  Montgomery  was  effected 
without  incident.  Craighead  retired  to  the  ordinary 
smoking-car,  and  sat  moodily  gazing  out  as  the  train 
sped  smoothly  down  from  the  foothills  into  the  wide, 
moist  plain  that  bounds  the  mighty  Gulf.  Old  gray- 
beards  of  Spanish  moss  began  to  droop  from  the  limbs 
of  ancient  cedars  as  if  the  ghostly  relics  of  a  former  race 
still  brooded  regretfully  over  its  lost  possessions.  Van 
felt  uneasy  and  out  of  place,  as  he  plunged  farther  and 
farther  into  the  unknown.  On  terms  however  magnifi- 
cent, and  with  sentiments  however  lofty,  he  seemed  to 
have  sold  himself  to  a  party  of  travelling  strangers. 

Toward  evening  the  train  stopped  for  some  moments 
at  the  old  historic  town  of  Mobile.  Craighead  caught 
his  first  glimpse  of  its  warm,  yellow  inlet  opening  into 
the  wide,  blue  bay.  Many  barges  and  sailing  vessels 
lay  at  the  wharves,  some  unloading  fragrant  cargoes  of 
pineapple  and  bananas,  others  waiting  to  receive  the 
heaps  of  plethoric  cotton-bales  piled  at  one  side  of  the 
pier,  and  destined  for  direct  transportation  to  Liverpool. 
Huge  "flat-boats  "  of  native  coal  lay  moored  in  the  river, 
first  fruits  of  the  government's  engineering  improve- 
ments in  Alabama's  sluggish  water-ways.  Fashionably 
dressed  young  ladies  promenaded  the  station  platform, 
their  light  silk  waists  and  bright  parasols  drawing  atten- 
tion to  the  sweet,  warm  balm  of  the  air,  honey-laden,  as 
if  blowing  from  some  gigantic  greenhouse. 

Their  soft,  low  chatter  with  attendant  swains  was  a 
language  new  to  Craighead,  musical  as  the  murmur  of 
winds  among  pines,  —  liquid  English,  molten,  even  as 
French  has  run  in  glittering  drops  from  the  disintegrat- 
ing strata  of  Latin.  This  was  the  kind  of  dashing, 
dark-eyed  girl  he  had  half  hoped  to  find  in  Miss  Dexter. 
Recalled  now  to  her  existence,  he  tapped  on  the  car 
window  and  summoned  her  for  a  stroll.  But  she  looked 
frightened  as  she  shook  her  head  and  withdrew. 

It  was  night  when  they  arrived  at  Biloxi.     The  little 


76  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Queen  Anne  station  with  its  one  electric  light  was  the 
first  bit  of  modern  architecture  Craighead  had  seen  since 
leaving  Washington.  It  would  have  reminded  him  of 
the  North,  but  that  it  was  apparently  embowered  in 
orange-trees.  A  comfortable  omnibus  conveyed  the 
little  party  over  white,  shell-paved  streets,  between 
rows  of  neat  villas  half-screened  in  magnolias,  until  the 
capacious  hotel  was  reached. 

Next  morning  Mrs.  Dexter  was  examined  by  the  local 
physician,  a  young  Philadelphian,  of  whom  Craighead 
had  heard  good  reports.  The  latter  was  assured  that 
nothing  whatever  was  needed  but  rest  and  careful 
nursing. 

The  days  hung  heavily  on  Craighead 's  hands.  Truth 
took  her  meals  in  the  room  with  Mrs.  Dexter,  whom  she 
refused  to  leave  even  for  a  half-hour's  exercise.  He 
wandered  uneasily  through  long  verandas  and  billiard- 
rooms,  and  bowling-alleys,  and  out  over  hopeless  stretches 
of  monotonous  beach,  avoiding  at  night  the  brilliant 
drawing-rooms  where  assembled  throngs  of  well-dressed, 
listless  Northern  visitors.  Once  he  thought  he  recog- 
nized a  Boston  face,  —  that  of  a  young  lady  he  had  met 
at  Mrs.  Wiley's.  He  hoped  she  had  not  noticed  his 
name  on  the  register. 

"Come  out  and  take  a  ride  in  my  buggy,"  said  the 
doctor,  one  morning,  really  pitying  his  loneliness.  On 
the  pleasant  round  through  shaded  streets  he  pointed 
out  various  historic  landmarks. 

"Were  you  aware  that,  for  twenty  years,  this  old 
town  was  the  capital  of  a  French  empire  as  large  as 
present  Europe?  Well,  it  was.  The  fort  stood  just 
over  there,  among  that  clump  of  live-oaks.  Iberville, 
he  was  drunk  with  big  ideas!  He  meant,  from  this 
stronghold,  to  capture  all  of  the  Spanish  and  English 
possessions,  pocketing  Florida  and  Mexico  to  boot.  All 
for  the  glory  of  the  Bourbon  Dauphin,  of  course !  The 
first  nigger  slaves  were  landed  on  this  beach.  Many  a 
gay  Paris  lady  and  snuff-boxed  lord  came  over  only  to 
rot  of  yellow  fever.  Yes,  sir,  this  was  to  have  been  the 


WHO    SAID    "JEANNE    D'ARC"?       77 

Versailles  of  America.  But  the  luck  fell  to  New 
Orleans." 

This  distraction  was,  to  Craighead,  but  a  desperate 
resource. 

He  was  dying  for  work  and  companionship.  His 
Northern  energy  revolted  at  the  odor  of  decay  and 
listless  invalidism.  He  could  do  little  for  Mrs.  Dexter. 
The  doctor  had  said  that  she  must  remain  in  isolation 
for  a  month  at  least.  He  was  seized  with  nostalgia 
for  the  North,  for  winter,  for  snow,  for  the  Arctic  sting 
of  the  wind  as  it  reddens  the  noses  of  the  sleighers  on 
the  Charles  River. 

On  the  fourth  morning  he  brooded  darkly  under  the 
trees.  The  glow  of  idealization  was  off  the  situation. 
The  romance  of  his  life  was  over.  He  had  heard  the  lock 
of  his  youth  click  behind  him.  In  the  hotel,  yonder, 
was  a  pale,  illiterate  girl  who  was  Mrs.  Van  der  Weyde 
Craighead.  He  felt  as  though  he  had  been  reading  his 
own  obituary  in  a  newspaper.  He  was  inclined  to 
resent  being  entrapped  into  this  slavery  by  her  idiotic 
obstinacy  and  incompetence.  Suppose,  after  all,  she  did 
not  have  it  in  her  to  realize  the  hopes  he  had  builded 
on  her  character! 

Suppose  she  remained  shy,  awkward,  and  ill-dressed, 
an  impossibility  in  Boston  society,  a  handicap  to  all  his 
ambitions!  How  Orchid  would  sneer.  Orchid!  At 
this  thought  a  deeper  bitterness  assailed  him.  Why 
must  all  women  be  either  Amelias  or  Becky  Sharps? 
"Vanity  Fair"  was  one  of  the  few  novels  Craighead  had 
been  able  to  read  with  pleasure  or  appreciation. 

"Pshaw!  "  he  muttered.  "The  strain  of  the  last  two 
weeks,  and  now  this  infernal  dawdling,  are  making  me 
morbid.  I  must  get  back  to  Boston  and  to  work." 

As  he  entered  the  hotel  the  office  clerk  handed  him  a 
letter.  It  contained  a  telegram  from  Norton,  his  junior 
partner,  forwarded  from  Dexterville. 

"Come  at  once.  Deuce  to  pay  with  the  Simpson 
case." 

The  thought  of  departure  made  him  feverish  with 


78 

excitement.  Mrs.  Dexter  did  not  need  him  any  longer. 
He  sent  a  messenger  to  her  room,  asking  to  be  allowed 
to  make  the  ladies  a  visit,  as  he  had  something  of 
importance  to  say. 

Mrs.  Dexter  was  lying,  as  usual,  on  a  sofa;  Truth 
sitting  in  a  low  rocking-chair  beside  her.  The  latter 
rose  with  an  awkward,  side-long  acknowledgment  of 
his  presence,  and  shuffled  toward  a  window,  where  she 
stood  looking  out.  The  elder  lady  received  him  kindly, 
but  there  was  the  same  vague,  objective  trouble  in  her 
small  face.  Now  and  again  she  would  turn  her  eyes 
from  Van  to  Truth,  as  though  trying  to  solve  a  riddle, 
or  confirm  a  surmise.  Her  very  pathos  pleaded  with 
Craighead  for  something  that  he  would  not  understand. 

"I  must  start  for  Boston  to-night,"  he  said,  at 
length.  "My  partner  has  a  difficult  case  on,  and 
needs  me." 

Mrs.  Dexter  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Thought  was 
not  easy  to  her  in  her  present  weakened  condition. 
Then  she  said  gently,  — 

"  I  can  never  be  too  grateful  for  all  you  have  done  for 
me.  I  can't  undertand  it  all  yet,  —  my  head  seems  so 
strange  and  weak.  But  I  am  grateful,  and  Truth  is 
grateful  too,  I  know."  She  looked  piteously  towards 
Truth's  averted  face.  "Truth  is  grateful  too,"  she 
murmured.  "We  must  not  keep  you." 

Still  Truth  made  no  sign. 

"  I  shall  leave  you  in  the  good  doctor's  care, "  Craig- 
head  went  on.  "  He  says  you  will  have  to  remain  here 
for  some  weeks  yet,  and  when  you  wish  to  go  elsewhere, 
I  can  come  again  to  the  South,  if  necessary." 

Truth  moved  uneasily.  He  now  addressed  her 
directly. 

"  You  can  understand,  Miss  Dexter,  that  your  estate 
in  Boston  needs  personal  attention."  No  one  of  the 
three  noticed  the  misnomer  ;  but  Truth  turned  from 
the  window,  and  came  toward  him  with  nervous  hesita- 
tion in  her  gait. 

Craighead  rose  from  his  chair.    "  I  will  come  in  again, 


WHO    SAID    "JEANNE    D'ARC"?       79 

Mrs.  Dexter,  just  before  starting,  for  a  final  good-bye. 
In  the  mean  time,  would  you  care  to  take  a  short  walk 
on  the  beach?" 

He  was  looking  at  Truth. 

"Yes,  Truthie,"  said  the  old  lady  with  some  eager- 
ness. "  It  will  do  you  worlds  of  good !  Yes,  take  her 
to  the  seashore,  Mr.  Craighead." 

Truth  started  obediently  toward  the  door,  but  Mrs. 
Dexter  interrupted.  "  Take  a  cloak,  darling,  —  your 
brown  jacket  —  or,  here !  maybe  this  is  better,  my  old 
black  shawl." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  girl,  wrapping  herself  almost 
lovingly  in  the  sable  folds.  "  I  shall  never  wear  any- 
thing but  black  again." 

The  shawl  was  so  large  that  a  point  of  fringe 
touched  the  floor  behind  her.  They  walked  along  the 
corridors  together.  Craighead  stiffened  as  each  well- 
dressed  Northern  lady  stared  at  them  in  passing,  and 
turned  to  look  at  the  uncouthly  draped  figure  with  curi- 
osity or  disdain.  He  felt  himself  humiliated  and  indig- 
nant. He,  of  all  men,  to  have  a  wife  of  whom  he  could 
not  be  proud.  But  he  consoled  himself  with  the  thought 
that  she  was  worth  some  millions  in  her  own  right,  a 
fact  which  he  would  like  to  tell  these  supercilious  guests 
to  their  faces. 

They  went  out  by  a  side  door,  and  down  a  plank 
walk  to  the  beach  in  silence.  There  was  no  wind. 
Blue  Mississippi  Sound  hung  in  the  air  like  a  wild 
morning-glory.  It  was  one  of  those  perfect  February 
days  which  make  of  the  South  a  temporary  paradise. 
The  sky  was  but  an  expanded  and  diluted  stretch  of 
sea,  and  the  long  yellow  islands  lay  between  like  a 
chain  of  gold  on  a  cushion  of  azure  velvet. 

The  young  married  strangers  paced,  side  by  side,  the 
echoless  sand,  but  Truth's  listless  step  tended  to  lag  a 
little.  Van  felt  that  she  was  afraid  of  him  and  of  the 
coming  interview,  but  some  instinct  of  cruelty,  latent 
in  most  men,  urged  him  to  increase  her  terror. 

"Truth,  do  you  realize  that  you  are  my  wife?  "     His 


80  TRUTH    DEXTER 

voice  was  like  the  eye  of  a  dissector.  He  stopped  short 
to  look  at  her. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  with  expanding  nostrils,  her  gaze 
riveted  on  his  face  like  a  victim's  on  that  of  an  execu- 
tioner. 

"U-m-m!     Do  you  regret  it?" 

She  paused  before  answering.  "  You  said  it  was  the 
only  way  to  save  grandma." 

"And  have  n't  you  a  thought  for  me?  " 

"You've  been  good  to  us,"  she  said  simply.  "I 
don't  understand  it." 

"Most  men  consider  that  a  wife's  affection  is  some 
compensation  for  personal  sacrifices." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  looked  out  to.  sea  and  shiv- 
ered. Had  he  not  said  there  would  be  no  affection? 

"You  are  not  responsive,  Mrs.  Craighead." 

Still  she  did  not  reply.  "Are  you  troubled  at  the 
thought  of  going  to  Boston  with  me  to-night?" 

The  blow  had  fallen!  She  recoiled  under  it,  but 
rallied  almost  immediately.  "Do  you  mean  that  you 
are  goin'  to  force  me  to  leave  grandma  ?  " 

"It  is  a  wife's  duty  to  go  with  her  husband,"  he  said 
sententiously.  "Ask  Mrs.  Dexter  if  it  isn't." 

He  was  almost  ashamed  of  himself  as  he  saw  her 
pallor. 

She  had  shut  her  eyes ;  he  thought  she  was  praying. 
She  was  saying  to  herself,  "  If  only  grandpa  were  here, 
he  would  save  me !  " 

He  could  not  deny  himself  one  more  question.  "  Your 
grandmother  will  be  amply  provided  with  nurses.  Do 
you  refuse  to  go?" 

"  I  can  do  anything  that  is  for  her  good.  Love  for 
her,  you  said,  was  to  consecrate  our  strange  marriage. 
It 's  only  a  week  now,  and  she  is  still  very  sick.  If  you 
try  to  make  me  leave  her  now,  you  were  not  speaking 
the  truth  then.  Can  you  really  mean  to  force  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  I  would  never  force  you  to  go  with 
me,"  he  said  stiffly.  He  could  not  have  explained  to 
himself  the  instinct  which  led  him  to  torment  this  poor 


WHO    SAID    "JEANNE    D'ARC"?       81 

ignorant  child.     She   straightened   herself  with  equal 
stiffness,  as  a  thought  came  into  her  head. 

"Don't  you  remember,  you  promised  I  could  be  free 
to  leave  you  if  I  wanted  to  ?  Even  if  you  do  say  that 
it 's  a  wife's  duty  to  do  whatever  her  husband  tells  her, 
you  yourself  gave  me  this  chance  of  escape.  Grandma 
needs  me  more  than  you,  and  if  I  've  got  to  make  a 
choice,  I  will  stay  with  her!  " 

She  was  splendidly  graceful  as  she  drew  herself  up  to 
full  height,  glad  that  she  would  not  be  forced  to  beg 
him  for  mercy.  She  stood  upon  her  own  rights.  Van 
gazed  at  her  in  admiration.  As  before,  the  stupid  girl- 
hood had  vanished  in  a  crisis,  —  she  could  be  a  heroine 
still.  Her  flashing  eyes  looked  straight  into  his.  She 
was  a  creature  worth  winning ;  a  great  load  rolled  away 
from  his  heart. 

The  young  man  threw  back  his  head,  held  out  his 
hand,  and  laughed.  It  was  a  genial,  bright,  hearty 
laugh.  Truth  stared  at  him  incredulously. 

"You  're  just  the  fine  girl  I  thought  you,  Truth.  I 
admire  your  spirit.  I  only  wanted  to  draw  you  out,  and 
see  whether  all  your  pluck  had  been  washed  away  by 
tears ! "  He  advanced  and  took  her  hand.  His  smile 
beamed  on  her  warmly,  like  a  sun  rising  from  a  misty 
haze. 

"  Don't  be  troubled,  little  girl !  "  he  went  on,  in  tones 
that  she  had  never  heard  before.  "I  did  n't  intend  to 
take  you  away.  I  must  go  to  Boston  alone,  and  get 
things  in  order.  When  I  saw  how  frightened  you  were 
I  could  not  help  teasing  you  a  little.  It  was  cruel,  but 
satisfactory." 

His  voice  was  so  frank,  his  tone  and  grasp  so  reassur- 
ing, that  she  felt  her  whole  soul  expand  in  a  kind  of 
wondering  thankfulness.  She  could  not  speak  at  first, 
and  merely  turned  her  quivering  face  slowly  upward  to 
his.  Something  rose  in  his  throat  at  the  sweet  trustfulness 
of  that  look.  He  noticed  the  delicate  beauty  of  her  lips. 

"Some  day,  you  know,  you  may  want  to  go  with  me," 
he  said,  with  meaning. 

6 


82  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Of  course, "  she  hastened  to  assure  him,  "  but  not 
without  grandma." 

Van  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  again.  "  Evi- 
dently my  domestic  affairs  are  not  to  be  on  the  common- 
place order."  Then  changing  his  tone  to  one  of  cordial 
interest,  he  said,  "  But  now,  Truth,  this  may  be  our  only 
chance  of  making  friends  for  a  long  time.  I  want  to 
hear  what  kind  of  person  I  've  married.  Come,  tell  me 
all  about  yourself,  —  what  you  have  been  doing  and 
thinking  all  these  years." 

"It  is  a  mighty  long  time,"  said  Truth,  solemnly. 
"  It  really  seems  ages  and  ages  ago  that  I  was  a  little 
child,  —  and  I  was  so  happy  then!  "  Her  face  sad- 
dened, and  she  looked  out  wistfully  across  the  Sound. 
A  venturesome  wave,  creeping  almost  to  her  feet,  broke 
into  scallops  of  sandy  foam.  She  stepped  back  quickly, 
with  a  gesture  more  of  distaste  than  alarm. 

"Let's  go  back  into  the  woods,  if  you  don't  mind! 
We  're  too  close !  "  She  threw  out  one  hand  as  though 
to  repel  the  waves. 

"It  is  a  bit  damp!  "  remarked  the  practical  Van. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  that.  It  is  n't  that.  Only  I  don't 
like  the  water  so  near.  It  is  lots  prettier  from  among 
the  trees!  "  She  quickened  her  steps  up  the  sandy 
slope. 

"  You  queer  little  thing !  I  thought  every  one  liked 
the  sea.  Think  how  the  poets  rave  over  it !  "  Van 
smiled.  He  did  not  have  a  great  opinion  of  poets. 

They  were  now  in  the  woods.  Truth  was  ahead,  and 
sprang  lightly  from  root  to  root.  The  solid  pine-trunks, 
red-brown  close  at  hand,  purple  in  the  distance,  en- 
closed them  in  great  parallels  of  light  and  shade.  A 
green  velarium  of  branches  spread  high  above. 

Truth  turned  for  a  view.  The  upright  strokes  of 
each  dark  pair  of  trees,  look  where  she  would,  formed 
the  setting  to  a  picture  at  once  simple,  yet  perfect  in 
constructive  beauty.  One  horizontal  line,  perhaps,  of 
beach  or  half -diluted  horizon,  —  the  noble  contour  of 
drifting  cloud  forms,  or  sweep  of  sinuous  waves,  and, 


WHO    SAID    "JEANNE    D'ARC"?       83 

for  color,  a  palpitating,  shimmering,  translucent  har- 
mony of  turquoise,  azure,  and  silver  lights,  playing  into 
one  another  with  subtle  interchange  of  values. 

"Just  look!  "  cried  the  girl,  triumphantly.  "Didn't 
I  say  it  would  be  lots  and  lots  prettier?  " 

"Ye-e-s,"  assented  her  companion.  "But  it  seemed 
to  me  fairly  decent,  even  at  close  quarters!  "  He  gazed 
out  with  much  condescension  into  the  fantasy  of 
blues. 

It  was  cooler  among  the  trees.  Truth  drew  the  old 
shawl  up  to  her  chin  as  she  flung  herself  down  upon  a 
slope  of  shining  pine-needles.  Van  followed  suit  on  a  bed 
of  sweet  dried  fern.  Unconsciously  he  breathed  a  long 
sigh  of  pleasure;  and  then  his  hand  went,  by  instinct, 
to  his  cigar  case.  "  May  I  ?  "  he  asked,  lifting  voice 
and  eyebrows  in  the  direction  of  Truth. 

She  laughed  brightly.  "  It  does  seem  too  funny  for 
anybody  to  ask  me  if  they  can  smoke.  Of  course  they 
ask  grandma,  but  that 's  different." 

"You  are  a  married  woman  now,  and  must  expect 
to  be  treated  with  the  dignity  that  your  new  position 
warrants." 

She  flushed  delicately,  but  her  frank  eyes  did  not 
waver  as  she  said,  "  That 's  funnier  still !  I  shall  never 
get  used  to  that." 

Van  laughed  with  her.  He  felt  himself  growing 
younger  in  the  geniality  of  her  unabashed  girlhood.  He 
had  not  realized  before  how  superlatively  fine  an  inno- 
cent woman's  eyes  could  be ;  and  a  great  throb  of  some- 
thing like  self-gratulation  rose  to  his  heart. 

"But  this  isn't  telling  me  about  your  childhood,"  he 
cried.  "  Come  now,  confess  it  all !  Your  occupations, 
amusements,  naughtinesses  — " 

"And  I  was  naughty!  "  interrupted  Truth,  tilting  her 
fair  head  to  one  side  and  glancing  at  him  archly.  "  Oh, 
so  naughty!  Once  I  buried  the  cat,  to  play  resurrec- 
tion; and  another  time  I  dressed  up  like  a  ghost  and 
had  the  whole  quarter  in  hysterics.  I  know  I  oughter 
have  been  punished ;  but,  goodness !  they  —  daddy  and 


84  TRUTH    DEXTER 

grandma  —  did  n't  know  how  to  scold,  much  less  punish." 
Her  sweet  face  softened  into  inexpressible  tenderness. 

"  Your  own  parents  died  when  you  were  very  young, 
I  presume  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  when  I  was  a  little  bit  o'  baby.  They  died 
of  yellow  fever  in  Mobile,  and  then  daddy  brought  me 
here,  —  no,  I  mean  to  the  Big  House.  I  have  never 
really  missed  them,  but  at  the  time  it  nearly  killed 
daddy  and  grandma.  Papa  was  their  only  child." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  to  school  ?  " 

"N-o-o.  Not  to  a  real  school.  There  wasn't  any 
except  for  the  little  niggers  at  Melvin.  But  daddy  arid 
grandma  taught  me  every  day." 

"What?— if  I  may  ask."' 

"Well,  daddy,  he  taught  me  Latin  and  arithmetic, 
and  moral  philosophy,  and  grammar,  —  oh,  I  did  hate 
grammar!  " 

"So  I  should  have  judged,"  thought  Van,  but  he  was 
smiling. 

"Grandma,  she  taught  me  readin'  and  writin'  and 
geography  and  history.  As  soon  as  I  knew  how,  she 
made  me  read  out  loud  an  hour  every  day ;  and  daddy 
read  to  us  both  at  night." 

"  What  books,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  was  mostly  '  Paradise  Lost, '  and  '  Lalla 
Rookh,'  and  English  history.  We  all  love  poetry.  On 
Sundays  we  read  the  Bible,  and  Bunyan's  'Pilgrim's 
Progress, '  and  they  let  me  look  at  the  pictures  and  ask 
questions  about  them.  Daddy  knew  just  everything !  " 

Van  bent  his  dark  head  over  his  cigar.  "  Those  were 
all  good  books;  indeed,  they  are  classics,"  he  managed 
to  say  gravely.  "  Were  those  all?  " 

Truth  clasped  long  arms  about  her  knees,  and  rocked 
thoughtfully  to  and  fro  for  a  moment. 

"No,  there  was  one  more  —  Fox's  '  Book  of  Martyrs.' 
I  did  n't  like  the  martyrs  much ;  they  used  to  give  me 
the  nightmare.  Once  I  blistered  my  ringer  awfully, 
tryin'  to  hold  it  in  a  candle  like  Bishop  Latimer  and 
Ridley.  I  loved  'Pilgrim's  Progress,'  though.  I  had 


WHO    SAID    "JEANNE    D'ARC"?       85 

lots  of  places  in  the  woods  named  for  places  in  this 
journey.  I  got  nearly  drowned  twice  in  the  Branch, 
tryin'  to  cross  the  Slough  of  Despond."  Her  tone  fell 
suddenly.  "  I  reckon  it  was  not  a  sure-enough  swamp 
that  Christian  crossed.  I  know  now  that  he  meant  — 
just  —  trouble  !  " 

"Didn't  you  sometimes  read  regular  novels  ?"  asked 
Van,  quickly.  He  would  not  give  her  time  to  enter 
her  "sure-enough"  slough  again. 

The  stratagem  was  successful.  Truth  arched  her  neck 
like  a  young  swan,  as  she  answered  primly,  "  Grandma 
says  that  novels  ain't  proper  readin'  for  young  girls." 

"  How  about  fairy-tales  ?  " 

"Fairy-stories, — do  you  mean?  Oh,  those!  I've 
read  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  those.  I  lived  in  them. 
I  believe  in  fairies  yet.  They  used  to  come  to  me  when 
I  was  half-asleep  in  the  woods,  and  whisper  to  me  their 
own  stories,  lots  prettier  than  the  ones  in  books.  But 
when  I  woke  up,  just  tremblin*  with  listenin',  all  had 
gone  out  of  my  head,  an'  I  could  hear  the  mean  little 
fairies  laugh  as  they  flew  away.  Sometimes  I  even 
thought  I  could  see  them  hurryin'  off  on  butterflies  and 
mosquito-hawks,  and  I  know  I  've  seen  their  little  heels 
dive  under  ferns  and  low-bush  huckleberries.  But 
wasn't  it  mean  for  them  to  run  off  like  that?" 

She  appealed  to  him  with  irresistible,  childish  co- 
quetry. Her  deep  eyes  were  half  veiled  by  lashes,  her 
head  tilted  side  wise,  her  exquisite  lips  parted  in  pretty 
displeasure.  As  for  her  voice,  —  it  had  the  richness  of 
honey  that  the  wild  bees  cull  from  unploughed  moors 
and  plains. 

Van  leaned  forward  on  his  elbow.  "I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  one  of  those  stories." 

At  his  look  Truth  flushed  more  warmly  than  before. 
She  moved  restlessly,  and  was  plainly  ill  at  ease,  though 
she  answered  lightly  enough,  "They  all  flew  off  on 
butterflies,  I  told  you." 

"  Did  you  never  remember  any  of  the  whispers  ?  " 

"Only  little  scraps.     But  even  those  used  to  make 


86  TRUTH    DEXTER 

the  piccaninnies  gather  around  me.  I  could  make  those 
children  laugh,  or  fight,  or  cry,  just  as  I  pleased.  But 
that  was  a  long,  long  time  ago.  I  'm  too  old  for  fairy- 
stories  now,  I  reckon.  Besides,  — "  here  she  swept  him 
a  marvellous  glance,  the  essence  of  shyness,  innocence, 
and  coquetry  in  one,  —  "I  'm  a  mar — ried  woman  now, 
you  know." 

Van  actually  caught  his  breath.  His  cheeks  were  as 
red  as  hers.  What  had  he  married  ?  a  woman  ?  a  child  ? 
a  hamadryad  ?  "  Truth,"  he  began,  but  she  was  off  like 
a  startled  deer  that  has  caught  a  glimpse  of  its  own  face 
in  the  water. 

Some  impulse  of  delicacy  kept  him  from  following. 
He  remained  passive  among  the  fragrant  ferns  until  she 
came  back,  the  old  shawl  high  above  her  chin,  and  the 
pretty  flush  gone.  She  sat  down  a  little  farther  off 
than  before. 

Van  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  some  commonplace 
topic  of  conversation.  "Is  this  your  first  visit  to  the 
seacoast  ?  " 

"Yes.     I  did  n't  know  that  I  was  goin'  to  hate  it  so." 

"  Hate  it, "  he  echoed.  "  That 's  queer !  Why  do  you 
hate  it?" 

The  girl  set  her  face  toward  the  sea.  Her  eyes 
seemed  to  brighten  and  darken  again,  as  waves  take  on 
light  and  shade  in  moving. 

"  It  has  always  kind  o'  haunted  me,  ever  since  I  was 
a  baby.  I  used  to  dream  about  things  in  the  bottom  of 
the  ocean,  and  I  didn't  like  them.  I  knew  just  how 
the  little  Sea  Maid  felt  about  stayin'  there.  You 
remember  the  little  Sea  Maid,  don't  you?" 

"I  'm  afraid  that  I  have  never  met  her." 

Truth  looked  disappointed.  Yet  how  could  she  ex- 
pect a  knowledge  of  her  world  from  such  a  grave  and 
dignified  personage? 

"  Well,  there  was  a  Sea  Maid  and  I  loved  her  best. 
I  always  wanted  to  see  a  real  ocean  for  her  sake." 

"Ah,"  interrupted  Van.  "You  can't  know  what  a 
real  ocean  is  until  you  come  North.  Where  the  whole 


WHO    SAID    "JEANNE    D'ARC"?       87 

Atlantic  beats  off  boulders  from  our  granite  cliffs,  — 
there  you  shall  smell  the  true  saltness  of  the  world! 
And,  Truth,  on  some  one  of  those  high  crags  I  am 
going  to  build  a  little  summer  home  for  you.  Then  I 
shall  come  to  get  you,  and  you  shall  tell  me  fairy- 
stories  the  rest  of  my  life." 

His  words  shattered  the  spell  of  dreams.  The  thought 
of  living  in  the  North  as  this  man's  wife  was  thrust  back 
upon  her,  as  returning  tides  force  again  and  again  to  the 
shore  their  waifs  of  wreckage.  She  rose  slowly  to  her 
feet,  and  stood  looking  far  out  beyond  the  line  of 
islands.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  trouble. 

"Surely  the  sea  is  beautiful  to  look  at,"  said  Van. 

"  Yes,  it 's  beautiful,  and  more  awful  than  I  thought, " 
she  answered  in  a  low  tone.  "There  is  something 
underneath  the  water  that  I  am  afraid  of.  It  laughs 
and  pretends  to  play  at  the  edges,  but  out  there,  in  the 
deep  part,  it  don't  laugh !  Somehow  it  almost  makes  fun 
of  you  for  tryin'  to  be  good!  "  She  turned  from  the  sea 
to  her  listener.  A  hint  of  tragedy  was  in  her  voice. 

"  When  you  talk  about  my  goin'  to  Boston  —  I  feel 
just  the  same  kind  of  terror.  I  cannot  tell  what  it  is, 
but  I  feel  it!" 

Out  of  the  swart  folds  of  the  old  shawl,  her  noble 
head  rose  finely.  Her  hair,  shredded  by  the  sunlight, 
formed  a  halo  of  brightness.  A  strange  light  was  in 
her  eyes.  Suddenly  this  faded.  She  gave  a  pathetic 
little  sigh,  and,  leaning  close  against  the  tree  where  she 
stood,  said  aloud : 

"I  am  afraid  of  the  sea,  but  oh,  I  love  woods  and 
trees!  They  belong  to  you,  somehow.  They  under- 
stand, and  you  can  trust  them.  When  I  listen  to  the 
sound  of  trees  I  feel  just  like  —  " 

She  paused  again.  Unnoticed,  the  shawl  had  slipped 
to  the  ground.  Her  slender  bod}7  was  poised  like  a 
water-plant.  Her  left  arm  was  thrown  out  across  the 
bole  of  the  tree,  and  her  uplifted  face  threw  glances 
of  mysterious  intelligence  among  the  thickly  chorused 
oracles  of  the  branches. 


88  TRUTH    DEXTER 

So  posed,  her  aspect  thrilled  Van  strangely.  He  had 
seen  that  face  before !  But  where  ?  a  flash  of  recogni- 
tion pierced  the  uncertainty.  It  was  in  a  picture !  Yes, 
she  might  have  been  the  model  for  Lepage's  — 

"  Jeanne  d'Arc !  "  whispered  something. 

Van  fairly  jumped.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stared 
hard  into  her  face.  Good  heavens !  Was  she  a  mind 
reader  ? 

"What  did  you  say?"  he  asked  aloud.  "I  didn't 
quite  catch  on." 

"  I  only  said  that  the  trees  made  me  feel  like  Jeanne 
d'Arc,"  she  answered,  as  if  a  little  ashamed.  "I 
thought  of  it  just  before  I  said  it,  but  I  was  afraid  you 
would  laugh  at  me.  Did  n't  you  ever  hear  about  Jeanne 
d'Arc  listening  to  the  voices?"  She  thought  that  he 
would  rank  Jeanne  with  the  little  Sea  Maid,  and  might 
possibly  condemn  her  childish  love  of  both. 

Van  stepped  forward  quickly,  and,  scarcely  knowing 
what  he  did,  took  one  of  her  hands  in  his. 

"Yes,  I've  read  of  her,"  he  said.  "I  believe  you 
look  exactly  like  her.  Some  day  I  will  take  you  to 
New  York,  and  show  you  her  picture." 

He  kept  her  hand  in  his,  as  they  walked  back  along 
the  beach.  She  did  not  meet  his  eyes  again,  and  he 
felt  the  slim  fingers  within  his  own  tremble  more  than 
once.  She  was  growing  fast  into  consciousness  of  her 
womanhood. 

"Think  of  me  always  as  your  friend  and  confidant, 
Truth ! "  he  said,  in  parting  from  her.  "  I  fear  that 
I  am  too  old  and  prosaic  for  a  knight,  but  my  little 
country  girl  has  indeed  become  a  fairy  princess.  There 
is  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  become  the  dragon,  and 
so  go  North  to  guard  her  castles  and  palaces." 

Truth's  head  drooped  still  lower.  Was  it  fancy,  or 
did  her  hand  press  his? 

"You  are  not  a  dragon,"  she  whispered  shyly.  "You 
are  a  real  knight,  good  and  true  and  —  handsome.  I 
like  you  better  than  castles  and  palaces.  I  —  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  go!" 


WHO    SAID    "JEANNE    D'ARC"?       89 

Before  Craighead  could  recover  from  his  aston- 
ishment she  was  in  the  house.  He  pulled  out  his 
watch. 

"By  George,  the  train  starts  in  an  hour.  I  rather 
wish  I  hadn't  decided  to  go  in  such  a  hurry!" 


CHAPTER   IX 

AT  BAY 

THAT  night,  on  the  train,  as  Craighead  lay  con- 
tentedly jogged  and  jolted  by  the  familiar  motions  of 
the  sleeping-berth,  the  crowded  episode  of  his  Southern 
journey  passed  before  him  in  vivid  review.  His  impres- 
sions on  the  trip  down,  his  reception  at  the  Big  House, 
the  scene  in  the  library,  the  Colonel's  terrible  death, 
his  own  overpowering  impulse  to  marry  Truth,  the 
phantom  wedding,  Biloxi,  with  its  days  of  vacancy,  and, 
lastly,  Truth,  as  she  was  that  afternoon  on  the  beach, 
her  blond  head  tilted,  her  soft,  rich  voice  drawling  out, 
"I'm  a  mar — ried  woman  now,  you  know."  He  had 
only  begun  to  guess  at  the  sweetness  of  this  wild-flower. 

But  on  the  next  day,  as  he  sped  into  the  region  of 
cornstalks  and  red  gullies,  the  visions  receded  into  vague- 
ness, like  the  early  chapters  of  a  book  we  have  just 
finished.  At  Charlotte  he  became  conscious  of  cross- 
ing a  line  of  demarcation  between  two  moral  jurisdic- 
tions. The  North  and  the  future  wrapped  him  in  a 
native  atmosphere  of  reality  which  stifled  his  recent 
dreams.  The  letter-box  in  the  station  seemed  an  ac- 
complice. The  towns  of  southern  Virginia  forced  a 
resumption  of  his  analysis  of  Orchid;  but  in  reverse 
order  like  a  phonograph  set  retrograde ;  the  keenness  of 
his  former  thought  had  scarred  itself  indelibly  upon  the 
very  wax  of  the  air. 

Although  he  felt  himself  practically  impregnable  be- 
hind his  new  shield  of  matrimony,  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  refrain  from  speculation  over  Orchid's  next 
move.  Such  women  do  not  take  insults  tamely,  and 
the  return  of  the  torn  letter  was  nothing  less  than  an 
insult. 

"She  richly  deserved  it,"  he  muttered  to  himself;  but 


AT    BAY  91 

even  as  he  said  it  he  knew  that  justice  or  desert  would 
play  little  part  in  Orchid's  plan  of  action.  He  delib- 
erately set  himself  to  weigh  the  chances  of  her  dropping 
the  affair  altogether.  That  would  be  the  only  true 
solution.  Yet,  what  a  moment  it  might  be,  in  which, 
with  his  own  lips,  he  should  tell  her  of  his  marriage ! 

The  vision  of  Long  Island  Sound  was  an  arctic  trav- 
esty upon  the  azure  of  Biloxi's  shore.  The  fences  and 
gardens  of  Connecticut  squared  painfully  sharp,  as  if  set 
and  polished  by  machinery.  Black  junipers  stood  senti- 
nel among  the  dumped  gray  boulders  of  Laurentian 
granite. 

"Boston!" 

The  well-known  Providence  Station  loomed  positively 
palatial  to  the  returning  traveller.  The  vista  of  the 
Public  Garden  through  the  narrow  framing  of  Church 
Street,  the  objurgations  of  rival  cab-drivers,  the  long 
line  of  electric  cars  crawling  about  the  corner  of  Charles 
like  a  migration  of  saturnian  ants,  and  the  tireless 
current  of  unconcerned  humanity  pouring  through  the 
channel  of  Boylston,  —  all  combined  to  thrill  him  with 
a  returning  sense  of  vitality  and  power.  The  very  slush 
of  the  soiled  snow  was  inspiring,  and  the  keen  wind,  as 
he  mounted  to  his  lodgings  on  Beacon  Hill,  hailed  him 
with  the  familiarity  of  old  comradeship. 

When  his  hand-bags  had  arrived,  he  hurried  down 
the  eastern  slope  of  the  hill,  past  that  shapeless  archi- 
tectural saurian,  the  new  law  courts,  whose  bones  will 
surely  puzzle  come  future  paleontologist,  —  beneath  the 
toppling  Juggernaut  of  the  Ames  Building,  until,  strik- 
ing the  corner  of  Milk  Street,  he  darted  into  a  great 
terraced  pueblo,  of  whose  crowded  cells  his  office  made 
one.  He  was  fairly  excited ;  he  felt  himself  being  un- 
married at  every  step.  The  elevator  greeted  him  with 
the  familiar  smell  of  tobacco  and  old  boots ;  the  cross- 
eyed elevator  boy  leered  a  respectful  welcome.  A  jerk 
at  the  sixth  floor,  and  Craighead  had  stepped  out,  rushed 
across  the  hallway,  and  flung  open  the  door  of  No.  235 
without  a  knock. 


92  TRUTH    DEXTER 

The  one  occupant  of  the  room  brought  his  heels  to  the 
floor  with  a  bang.  It  was  Norton,  the  junior  partner, 
who  had  been  tilting  far  back  in  Van's  desk-chair,  his 
feet  some  inches  higher  than  his  head,  as  he  read,  with 
engrossing  interest,  a  copy  of  the  latest  "  Sporting  Ga- 
zette." Simultaneously  with  the  bang,  he  had  pitched 
his  cigar  into  a  corner,  and  now,  straightening  his  back 
indignantly,  turned  to  annihilate  the  unceremonious 
intruder.  On  seeing  Van  he  relaxed  all  at  once,  fight- 
ing as  he  did  so  a  genial  grin. 

"  Well !  "  he  cried.  "  Got  back,  have  you  ?  "  I  began 
to  think  you  had  run  off  with  that  last  whopping  check. 
What 's  been  the  matter,  anyway  ?  Could  n't  call  you 
up  at  any  price!  " 

"I  was  travelling  about,"  answered  Craighead,  eva- 
sively. "The  South  is  a  very  interesting  country." 

Norton,  still  seated,  surveyed  his  delinquent  partner 
with  curiosity  and  suspicion. 

"A  little  jaunt, — ey?  Think  I'd  like  a  vacation 
myself." 

"Hump!  "  said  Van. 

"  You  left  me  a  fearful  job  with  Simpson.  I  'm 
worked  to  skin  and  bone!" 

"You  look  it!  You've  got  queer  illustrations  there 
for  a  law  report!  "  said  Van,  with  a  sarcastic  glance  at 
the  paper.  "But  —  I  wrote  you,  Quin  —  I ' ve  been  hav- 
ing a  devil  of  a  time  myself." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  remember.  Old  chump  broke  his  neck ! 
Hope  he  took  the  money  first." 

No  answer. 

"Did  he?" 

"No." 

"  Then  it  goes  to  the  girl,  direct.  Will  she  have  any 
trouble  in  getting  it? " 

"There  need  be  little  difficulty,"  said  Van,  stiffly. 

The  keen  young  eyes  grew  keener.  Something  was 
up  with  Van,  and  he  knew  it.  Craighead  tried  to  look 
nonchalant  as  he  hung  his  hat  and  coat  on  a  peg  behind 
the  door.  Norton  followed  every  motion. 


AT    BAY  93 

"Whew!"  he  cried.  "A  cool  three  million  if  it's 
a  cent!  Ravishing  Southern  heiress!  Bride  from  the 
Bush,  — no,  I  mean  the  Swamp!  Give  us  the  tip,  Van, 
old  boy!  How 's  the  girl ?" 

"  She  's  a  Southern  lady,  and  your  client.  I  think 
you  had  better  speak  more  respectfully  of  her." 

"Oh,  certainly,"  said  Norton,  apologetically,  but 
with  beaming  eyes.  "I  didn't  know  she  was  such  a 
tender  topic !  " 

"Will  you  stop  that  rot?"  growled  Van.  "I  want 
to  talk  business." 

"  This  is  business,  —  the  biggest  sort !  Just  send  me 
down  next  time !  "  Norton  smacked  his  lips  in  a  pecu- 
liarly irritating  way. 

"  She  has  accepted  the  bequest.  That 's  all  there  is 
about  it!" 

"Of  course  she  has  accepted.  You  didn't  expect  her 
to  refuse,  did  you?  Now  the  next  question  is,  —  who  '11 
she  get  to  spend  it  for  her?  When  does  the  next  train 
leave?"  He  began  pulling  things  about  in  great  ex- 
citement, jammed  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  seized 
an  umbrella,  stuffed  pens,  sponges,  and  various  desk- 
furnishings  into  his  pockets,  and  was  making  for  the 
door,  when  Craighead  caught  his  arm,  flung  him  half- 
way across  the  room,  and  roared,  — 

"  Don't  be  an  ass !     I  've  married  her." 

A  crash  of  silence  followed.  The  big  books  on  the 
shelves  nudged  one  another.  After  a  struggle  for  breath, 
the  junior  partner  gasped  out,  — 

"Well!     I'm  — blessed!" 

Craighead  sat  down  to  his  desk  and  began  opening 
unforwarded  letters.  Norton's  eyes  never  left  him. 
His  boyish  face  had  the  shrewd  look  of  an  old  man. 
After  a  few  moments  more  of  intense  regard,  he  silently 
picked  up  his  scattered  paraphernalia,  and  left  the 
room. 

The  next  morning,  early,  Craighead  sat  alone  in  his 
office,  writing.  The  problem  of  announcing  his  mar- 


94  TRUTH    DEXTER 

riage  to  his  father  proved  a  troublesome  one.  He  could 
see  the  hard  old  abolitionist's  face  tortured  into  con- 
temptuous wrinkles.  The  scowl  of  effort  was  on  his 
own  countenance  when  the  door  flew  open,  and  Norton's 
rotund  visage  beamed  upon  him  from  the  halo  of  a 
huge  wreath  of  artificial  orange-blossoms,  tied  with  red 
ribbon. 

Van  had  hard  work  to  control  the  nervous  twitches 
at  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  He  flung  the  offering 
toward  the  waste-paper  basket,  and,  with  as  much  sever- 
ity as  he  could  command,  said,  — 

"Now,  look  here,  Quin!  Let  me  tell  you,  once  for 
all,  that  this  is  no  matter  for  jokes." 

Norton  instantly  became  serious,  all  but  his  eyes, 
which  twinkled  from  the  assumed  gravity,  like  those  of 
a  chipmunk  from  a  crack  in  a  wall. 

"  I  intended  reporting  to  you  in  some  detail,  —  but 
if  you  have  gone  back  to  your  Sophomore  days  — " 
He  made  a  gesture  of  disgust  in  the  direction  of  the 
wretched  object  now  hanging  dejectedly  from  one  ear 
of  the  basket. 

"Never  mind  my  little  tribute  of  affection,"  said  the 
other,  meekly.  "I'm  as  solemn  as  a  beadle." 

Thus  reassured,  Craighead  began.  "  Now  I  don't  ex- 
pect to  be  judged  fairly  in  this  marriage."  His  tone 
was  pugnacious.  "All  Boston  will  presume  that  I 
married  Miss  Dexter  for  her  money." 

"Well,  didn't  you?"  asked  Norton,  innocently. 
"You're  not  given  to  emotional  vagaries." 

Van  set  keen  eyes  upon  his  interlocutor.  Perhaps 
he  realized  at  this  moment  that  other  things  than 
chipmunks  may  be  hidden  in  blank  walls. 

"If  that's  not  another  joke,  I'll  tell  you  the  facts. 
Literally,  Miss  Dexter's  reluctance  to  take  the  money 
would  yield  to  nothing  less  than  a  husband's  authority, 
and  I  had  to  marry  her  to  keep  her  and  Mrs.  Dexter 
from  starvation." 

Norton's  face  was  a  study.  "The  good  Samaritan 
wasn't  in  it!"  he  murmured,  as  if  to  himself. 


AT    BAY  95 

"It  is  the  unvarnished  truth,  for  all  that,"  Craighead 
declared ;  and  then  went  on  to  give  a  clear,  forcible, 
and  plausible  presentation  of  the  circumstances  which 
led  up  to  his  marriage.  Orchid's  name  was,  of  course, 
not  mentioned. 

When  the  story  was  finished  Norton  drew  a  long 
breath.  "It  is  a  wild  plot!"  he  said.  Then  he  got 
up  and  grasped  Van's  hand.  "  You  're  a  d — d  good 
chap,  Van,  and  a  lucky  one.  I  envy  you !  And  you  're 
half  in  love  with  the  mother-in-law,  too,  —  that  makes 
it  wilder  still!  Is  she  pretty,  Van?" 

"  Which  ?  "  asked  Van,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  the  girl !  —  Beg  pardon !  I  mean  —  Mrs.  Craig- 
head." 

Van  reflected  with  a  proprietary  air.  "No,  I  can't 
say  that  she  is  exactly  pretty.  She  's  hardly  more  than 
a  child,  you  know.  Yet  I  don't  think  that  you  would 
call  her  plain." 

"I'll  bet  a  hat  I  wouldn't!"  chuckled  Norton. 
" But  when  are  you  going  to  bring  her  to  Boston ?  I'm 
dying  to  see  her !  And  where  are  you  going  to  live  ? 
Build  a  palace  on  the  Fens?" 

"Can't  say  yet.  You  're  going  to  have  a  lively  time 
helping  me  run  the  estate,  though,"  replied  Van, 
thoughtfully. 

"We  had  better  sell  out  all  the  house  property,  and 
concentrate  on  business  blocks." 

Norton  paid  no  attention.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a 
brown  study. 

"  There  's  .a  vacant  lot  on  Commonwealth  Avenue, 
just  back  of  Mrs.  Wiley's." 

Craighead  began  to  take  on  an  angry  red,  but  before 
he  could  speak,  a  little  tap  was  heard  on  the  door, 
repeated  after  a  short  interval.  Norton  edged  toward 
the  sound,  opened  the  door  by  the  cautious  measure  of 
a  foot,  and  peeped  out.  "  Why,  good-morning,  Quincy. 
Is  Mr.  Craighead  in  ?  "  A  faint  odor  of  incense  stealing 
through  the  aperture  turned  Van  ashen. 

Norton   retreated,    almost  shutting   the  door  in  the 


96  TRUTH    DEXTER 

lady's  face.  His  countenance  was  distorted  into  an 
agonized  pantomime  of  horror,  and  he  waved  his  left 
hand  frantically  toward  Van,  as  if  imploring  that  rigid 
piece  of  marble  to  stow  itself  away  under  the  desk.  Van 
leaned  over  quickly,  and  threw  the  wreath  behind  a 
bookcase.  Taking  this  for  a  signal,  Norton  collected 
himself,  stepped  around  in  front  of  the  crack  with  an 
easy  swagger,  opened  his  eyes  and  the  door  wide,  and 
exclaimed  with  the  most  innocent  astonishment,  "  Why, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Wiley!  Is  that  you?  Van  told  me  to 
excuse  him  to  all  visitors  this  morning,  but  I  know  that 
he  will  be  beside  himself  to  see  you  I " 

"  You  hypocrite !  You  knew  perfectly  who  it  was, " 
she  laughed.  "But  I  forgive  you!  Where's  Van?" 

She  entered  the  office  in  an  almost  visible  halo  of 
perfume,  Norton  keeping  himself  directly  in  front  of 
her.  Suddenly  he  wheeled  about  on  the  pivot  of  one 
leg,  made  a  low,  mocking  bow,  and,  as  he  went  out  of 
the  door,  grinned  in  a  maddening  way,  and  threw  up 
his  hands  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

Then  the  door  slammed.  Before  the  echo  had  shud- 
dered away,  Orchid  turned  to  Van,  her  face  tender, 
pleading,  quizzical,  humorous,  defiant,  —  all  in  one ; 
but  the  look  was  lost.  Van  stood  like  a  bronze  image 
beside  his  desk,  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  space  of  wall  just 
over  the  intruder's  pretty  head. 

Her  tactics  changed  instantly;  she  began  to  flutter 
about  the  room  like  an  inquisitive  butterfly. 

"  And  this  is  your  office !  What  a  dear,  quaint,  ugly 
little  room !  To  think  that  this  is  the  first  time  I  've 
ever  been  in  it!  " 

No  response. 

She  stopped  beside  some  bookshelves,  and  ran  her 
fingers  daintily  across  the  fluted  dado  of  bound  law 
reports.  "  I  ought  to  have  married  a  lawyer,"  she  cried. 
"I  love  the  very  smell  and  touch  of  these  old  tomes." 

Still  no  reply!  She  glanced  at  him  sidewise,  and 
went  on  in  the  same  light  manner:  — 

"  You  are  not  very  polite  this  morning,  mon  ami.    Has 


AT    BAY  97 

anything  gone  wrong?  You  don't  even  offer  me  a  chair. 
Well,  I  can  find  one  for  myself." 

Now  of  this  particular  kind  of  furniture  the  office 
possessed  but  few  specimens.  There  was  Van's  revolv- 
ing desk-chair,  a  similar  one  for  Norton,  two  battered 
stools,  and,  far  off  in  one  corner,  a  dingy  divan.  Orchid 
hesitated  between  these,  then,  poising  for  a  moment 
beside  the  first,  suddenly  took  possession  of  it,  remark- 
ing, with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  "  I  think  this  just  about 
suits  me!  It 's  as  good  as  a  merry-go-round." 

Van  was  routed  for  the  instant.  He  flushed,  walked 
about  uneasily  for  a  few  turns,  then  said  abruptly,  — 

"Realty,  Mrs.  Wiley,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to 
excuse  me  this  morning  —  lam  overwhelmed  with  work 
already  too  long  postponed." 

Orchid  startled  him  by  a  merry,  genuine  laugh. 
"  Good  heavens !  "  she  cried.  "  Here  's  a  potato  on  your 
desk,  stuck  full  of  pens."  She  held  it  up  by  a  thick, 
black  penholder. 

Van's  face  remained  bronze,  but  his  soul  was  troubled. 
Every  man  knows  the  agony  of  seeing  a  female  relative 
busy  herself  with  his  special  belongings,  but  of  all  per- 
sons to  have  taken  possession  of  his  desk,  —  Orchid ! 
The  deeds  of  Truth's  property  were  lying  open  at  her 
elbow,  and  his  letter  to  his  father,  under  her  very  eyes. 
How  dared  she  come  after  all  that  had  passed  ?  He  was 
more  than  indignant  that  she  should  have  surprised  him 
into  a  forced  interview.  As  though  guessing  the  first 
half  of  his  thoughts,  she  took  up  the  newly  written 
letter-pad,  and  turned  it  face  downward  upon  the  desk. 
Then,  with  elbows  planted  upon  it,  and  her  pink  chin 
upon  her  little  gloved  fists,  she  let  her  merry  eyes  rest 
full  upon  Craighead's  sullen  face. 

"  You  might  just  as  well  let  me  have  my  say  and  be 
done  with  it.  This  is  your  only  chance  of  escape.  You 
can't  have  a  policeman  eject  me,  you  know!  " 

"I  can  leave  the  room,"  he  said  shortly. 

"Oh,  no!  You  won't  do  that.  There  are  too  many 
important  letters  and  papers  here."  She  tapped  Truth's 

7 


98  TRUTH    DEXTER 

documents.  "Besides,  Quincy  could  entertain  me  until 
your  return." 

Van  was  baffled.  She  was  using  the  privilege  of  her 
sex  with  the  mastery  of  a  man.  His  eyes  darkened  with 
anger  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  Explain  the  purpose  of  your  visit,  then.  But  kindly 
make  the  interview  as  brief  as  possible." 

"  You  are  called  a  gentleman !  Why  did  you  return 
my  letter  in  halves?" 

Van's  nostrils  whitened.  Her  audacity  was  almost 
splendid. 

"  You  had  had  your  trial  and  failed  in  it.  I  wished 
to  be  done  with  you." 

Orchid's  cheeks  grew  a  little  less  pink,  and  her  eyes 
narrowed  ominously.  "  And  do  you  flatter  yourself  that 
you  are  done  with  me  ?  " 

"I  am  convinced  of  that  fact." 

She  drew  a  long  sigh,  straightened  herself  back  in  the 
chair,  and  stared  out  of  the  window  a  moment  before 
she  said,  — 

"  I  came  prepared  to  forgive  your  suspicious  and  un- 
generous forcing  of  a  half -promise  —  " 

"I  do  not  desire  your  generosity." 

"Nor  my  friendship,  I  presume." 

"Nor  your  friendship." 

"  Thank  you  for  making  your  position  so  clear.  Now 
may  I  ask  what  you  consider  sufficient  reason  to  justify 
it?" 

"  There  is  no  necessity  for  my  giving  reasons. " 

"  But  there  is  necessity,  I  tell  you !  "  The  hardly 
subdued  fire  began  to  burn  in  her  eyes.  Her  hair  seemed 
to  grow  more  vivid,  her  face  to  harden  beneath  its  cover- 
ing of  pink  flesh. 

"  I  demand  explanation,  and  if  you  refuse,  Tom  Wiley 
shall  obtain  it  for  me!  " 

Craighead  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  I  tell  you,  Orchid,  that  I  am  not  going  to  be  bullied 
by  you  or  any  one  else  into  listening  to  a  melodramatic, 
garbled  account  of  my  own  conduct  and  motives!  I  am 


AT    BAY  99 

my  own  conscience  keeper,  and  am  accountable  to  no 
one.  I  have  not  the  time  to-day,  nor  the  inclination, 
for  such  an  interview  as  this !  " 

Orchid  had  risen  too.  Her  face  was  like  white  flint, 
out  of  which  is  struck  sparks  of  fire,  for  eyes.  "Are 
you  not  accountable  to  me  for  the  cowardice,  the  dis- 
honor of  the  test  you  tried  to  force?" 

"It  was  the  only  way  to  —  know!  " 

"To  know,  —  what?" 

"  Whether  you  were  an  actress  or  a  heroine." 

"  What  gives  you  the  right  to  set  up  an  arbitrary  test, 
by  which  I  am  to  be  judged  to  all  eternity?  " 

"You  yourself,  in  your  promise." 

She  winced  a  little.  "  It  was  not  exactly  a  promise. 
You  carried  me  off  my  feet." 

"We  cannot  go  into  that  now.  I  took  it  for  a 
promise.  And  you,  I  could  swear,  meant  it  so  at  the 
time,  though  I  must  confess  that  it  accorded  ill  with 
your  soubrette  performance  a  moment  later." 

"Van,  isn't  that  the  whole  difficulty  now?  Isn't  it 
anger,  —  pique,  —  at  the  position  in  which  you  were 
placed  ?  It  was  dreadful,  I  know.  But  you  must  have 
seen  what  an  hysterical  effort  it  was  to  me!  " 

Craighead  believed  himself  to  be  a  just  man.  He 
now  considered  her  words  carefully  before  answering. 
"Perhaps  that  incident  has  had  undue  weight.  Any 
one  in  my  place  would  have  been  equally  indignant. 
But,  in  reality,  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  issue  at 
stake.  Already  I  had  begun  to  regret  the  tempestuous 
scene  which  made  such  a  test  seem  necessary.  Let  me 
tell  you  now  that,  no  matter  what  your  answer,  the  final 
result  must  have  been  the  same." 

"And  that?" 

"  Renunciation  I " 

Orchid  shivered.  "Then  you  didn't  mean  —  you 
never  meant — ?" 

"  To  wrong  Tom  Wiley  ?  "  the  other  completed.  "  No, 
before  God,  I  did  not.  It  was  only  to  see  whether  you 
were  really  capable  of  sacrifice." 


100  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Orchid  leaned  back  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  "It  is  a  death-blow  to  my  vanity,"  she  mur- 
mured, "but  life  to  my  soul." 

Craighead  remained  standing.  In  the  painful  silence 
they  could  hear  the  clang  of  cars,  and  the  warning 
shouts  of  police  in  the  crowded  thoroughfares  below. 
It  seemed  to  the  young  man  that  this  was  all  part  of 
the  same  troubled  unreality  that  had  fastened  upon  him 
in  the  South.  If  the  past  month  could  only  be  blotted 
out  for  all  time !  He  had  not  courted  romance  or  theat- 
rical situations ;  why  should  thej*  dog  him  ? 

Orchid  removed  her  hands  and  looked  up.  In  her 
eyes  there  was  an  expression  he  had  never  seen  there 
before.  Her  voice,  too,  was  changed.  It  might  have 
been  a  ghost  of  Mrs.  Dexter's  girlhood  that  whispered, 
"  I  have  not  understood  you,  Van.  I  will  not  mistake 
again.  But  perhaps  I  have  not  failed  as  utterly  as  you 
think.  Did  you  read  my  letter?  " 

"No." 

"Ah!  I  knew  that  you  could  not  have  read  it!  But 
let  that  pass.  I  can  regain  your  confidence,  and  in  the 
meantime  will  gladly  suffer  your  misapprehension,  know- 
ing it  to  be  but  a  preliminary  to  a  better  and  closer 
friendship.  Already,  as  I  have  foretold,  people  have 
forgotten  their  gossip  —  " 

Craighead  interrupted  her  hastily.  "  No,  no !  It  may 
all  be  as  you  say!  But  we  can  never  return  to  the 
old  footing.  The  past  is  irrevocable." 

"Irrevocable!  I  don't  understand.  How  can  that 
be,  if  I  forgive?" 

He  opened  his  lips  to  tell  her  of  his  marriage,  but  the 
words  refused  to  come.  This  statement  must  give  the 
lie  to  what  he  had  been  saying.  She  would  have  but 
one  motive  to  assign.  She  could  not  judge  fairly.  Yet 
it  must  be  told,  sooner  or  later.  Why  not  now,  and 
have  it  done  with? 

Orchid  had  broken  into  impetuous  pleading.  At  first 
he  scarcely  heard  her  words,  but  then  their  meaning 
came,  and  grew,  accumulating  with  each  quiver  of 


AT    BAY  101 

her  voice,  each  passionate  intonation  of  her  complete 
surrender. 

"Van  —  Van  —  don't  say  that  it  is  irrevocable!  I 
cannot  bear  it  just  now,  just  when  I  have  found  in  a 
suspected  lover  the  noblest  of  friends.  I  have  so  many 
to  flatter,  to  fawn,  to  deceive.  You  alone  are  true.  I 
don't  care  how  the  old  women  gossip!  What  you  said 
that  last  wonderful  evening  burned  into  my  soul,  - 
almost  maddened  me!  Every  word  of  your  denuncia- 
tion was  deserved,  and  I  felt  each  word  like  a  —  knout! 
No  one  has  ever  told  me  of  my  faults  before.  You 
know  my  people  —  "  She  threw  out  her  arms  with  a 
gesture  of  despair,  and  challenged  his  pity  with  burning 
eyes. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  answered  gently,  "yet  — 
"  Yet  you  will  take  from  me  the  one  chance  of  neu- 
tralizing their  influence,  and  strengthening  what  I  have 
of  strength.     I  am  pleading  with   you  for  more  than 
life,  Van.     The  best  part  of  me  clamors, — 

'  All  I  might  never  be, 
All  men  ignored  in  me  — '  " 

She  was  growing  a  little  hysterical.  "  Forget  all  that 
I  said  that  evening,  except,"  here  her  voice  lowered  to 
more  vibrating  sweetness,  "except  where  the  memory 
might  serve  to  make  you  gentler.  Ah,  Van !  Do  not 
leave  me.  Do  not  give  me  up !  Let  me  be  your  client. 
Listen!  I  engage  you  now,  from  this  moment,  as  my 
moral  and  intellectual  adviser."  She  laughed  wildly. 
"Name  your  own  terms,  my  lord!  I  shall  not  blench!  " 

Van  struck  his  clenched  fist  on  the  table.  His  face  had 
grown  whiter  than  hers.  "  Orchid !  Mrs.  Wiley !  I  can- 
not listen  to  you!  I  must  not!  Heavens!  Why  should 
you  torture  us  both  ?  You  don't  understand !  I  am  — 

"I  don't  want  to  understand,"  she  cried  desperately. 
"Or,  perhaps  it  is  that  I  understand  better  than  you. 
Van,  I  will  give  up  all  those  silly  flatterers  that  swarm 
about  me.  I  really  care  nothing  for  social  leadership. 
I  will  study  under  you.  I  will  not  even  ask  that  you 


102  TRUTH    DEXTER 

visit  me  as  often  as  formerly.  Only  give  me  the  right 
to  feel  that  I  have  your  strong  will  to  guide  me.  I  need 
such  help.  Don't  you  know  that  I  need  it?  More  than 
once,  in  dark  hours,  I  have  been  to  noted  clergymen  to 
beg  for  comfort  and  advice.  They  were  polite  enough, 
and  meant  to  be  sympathetic,  as  they  doled  me  out  their 
little  sugar-coated  commonplaces.  But  I  —  I  dashed 
the  wretched  semblances  to  the  ground  and  pleaded  for 
real  things.  Then  they  would  become  embarrassed,  and 
their  little  stock  of  comfort  fail.  One  nice  little  man 
I  frightened  half  out  of  his  senses.  He  dodges  me  yet." 
She  gave  the  same  pathetic,  hysterical  laugh.  "  Oh, 
Van,  I  am  starving!  Be  generous  enough  to  overlook 
what  you  think  my  failure,  and  help  me  rise  to  that 
first  ideal  you  had  of  me." 

Fairly  at  bay  now,  Craighead  lifted  his  haggard  eyes 
full  to  her  own.  There  was  something  in  his  face 
that  gave  her  occult  cognizance  of  some  coming  blow. 
"  Orchid !  "  he  cried.  She  shivered,  and  clutched  her 
hands  together. 

"You  have  pleaded  well.  God  knows  that  I  have 
suffered  under  it  as  much  as  you ;  but,  the  future  is  no 
longer  mine.  There  is  a  third  factor,  and  this  is  the 
real  wedge  that  is  to  divide  us." 

Orchid  stared  at  him.  Her  gray  lips  moved  spas- 
modically. She  seemed  voiceless  to  beseech  him  not 
to  prolong  her  agony. 

Craighead  flung  himself  down  on  one  of  the  wooden 
stools,  and  bowed  his  head  with  a  groan.  Where  was 
his  triumph  now  ?  Cursed,  spiteful,  sentimental,  short- 
sighted fool  that  he  had  been!  Merciless  butcher,  in 
that  he  must  slay  this  quivering  soul  before  him! 

"Yes,  a  wedge,"  he  repeated.     "I  am  —  married!  " 

The  man's  head  went  down,  and  the  silence  seemed 
like  that  of  death  itself.  After  a  long,  long  pause,  he 
heard  a  strange  voice  saying,  "I  don't  believe  you. 
I  won't  believe  it!  This  is  another  test,  or  else  a  low 
revenge.  You  the  impersonal  one,  the  honorable! 
What  a  lie  to  your  words  this  thing,  if  true,  would 


AT    BAY  103 

give!  Oh,  Van,  be  merciful!  Say  that  it  is  only  another 
test!  " 

He  raised  his  face  and  looked  at  her  in  absolute 
silence. 

All  at  once  her  expression  began  to  change.  Her 
figure  stiffened,  and  her  head,  with  its  little  bonnet  of 
glittering  jet,  grew  erect.  Her  splendid  eyes  cooled, 
and  her  mouth  straightened  itself  into  the  semblance 
of  a  smile,  with  tiny  dimples  of  disdain  at  the  corners. 
Van  was  too  much  occupied  with  his  own  bitter  thoughts 
to  observe  this  transformation,  but  he  stared,  like  a 
dupe,  when  the  words  came. 

"Forgive  my  surprise,  dear  Mr.  Craighead.  I  was, 
just  at  first,  a  little  taken  off  my  guard.  This,  as  you 
say,  introduces  a  third  factor,  and,  for  the  present,  I 
must  take  my  soul-yearnings  elsewhere.  What  an  im- 
pulsive, undisciplined  creature  I  am,  to  be  sure !  "  She 
laughed  aloud,  and  Van  recognized  the  old  society  ring. 
He  attempted  to  speak,  but  she  gave  him  no  time. 

"  Well,  it  is  over  now, "  she  said,  as  if  in  relief. 
"  Let  us  agree  to  forget  it.  Mr.  Craighead,  —  or  rather, 
my  dear  old  friend  Van,  —  I  offer  you  my  sincerest 
congratulations !  " 

He  took  the  outstretched  hand  mechanically.  It  was 
all  part  of  the  nightmare. 

"  And  now  tell  me  something  of  Mrs.  Craighead.  Of 
course  she  is  beautiful  and  poor.  All  Southern  heroines 
are  beautiful  and  poor!  " 

"  Then  you  must  count  her  as  the  exception.  She  is 
neither. v 

"Ah-h-h!"  said  Orchid,  as  if  in  consternation;  but, 
regaining  her  brightness,  cried :  "  I  wish  to  judge  of  her 
beauty  for  myself.  You  are  too  modest.  Where  is  she 
stopping?  I  shall  call  at  once." 

"Orchid,"  began  Van  in  a  troubled  voice,  "do  you 
think  it  for  the  best?  Had  not  the  breach  between  us 
better  be  consummated  here  and  now,  forever?" 

By  the  triumphant  flash  of  her  eyes  he  saw  that  he 
bad  made  a  tactical  error, 


104  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"Why,  you  selfish  thing!  "  she  laughed.  "Am  I  to 
lose  my  teacher  and  the  chance  of  a  new  and  delightful 
friend,  all  in  one  blow  ?  Of  course  1  am  going  to  call. 
Tell  me  where  she  is,  instantly!" 

"  She  is  at  present  in  the  South,  with  a  sick  grand- 
mother." In  spite  of  supreme  effort  Van  flushed  as  he 
said  the  words. 

"Ah-h-h-h!"  murmured  Orchid  again,  and  this  time 
her  pause  seemed  a  deliberate  insult. 

"May  —  er  —  may  —  I  ask  when  she  is  expected?" 
said  the  lady,  in  a  tone  that  expressed  her  knowledge  of 
the  delicate  ground  where  she  trod. 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Wiley,  I  do  not  see  that  my  domestic 
affairs  can  possess  any  special  interest  for  you.  Mrs. 
Craighead  will  join  me  in  Boston  as  soon  as  her  grand- 
mother is  able  to  be  left  alone.  The  circumstances 
attending  my  hasty  marriage  were  all  of  an  unusual 
character. " 

Orchid  made  a  gurgling  sound  in  her  throat,  and  im- 
mediately suppressed  it  behind  her  handkerchief.  Van 
scowled,  and  continued  gruffly:  "There  is  important 
business  connected  with  Mrs.  Craighead's  Boston  prop- 
erty which  must  be  attended  to  immediately.  I  am 
overwhelmed  with  work." 

"Oh,  I'm  going  at  once, — at  once!"  she  laughed, 
beginning  to  fasten  the  silver  clasps  of  her  cloak. 
"  Good-bye !  It  was  more  than  kind  of  you  to  give  me 
so  much  of  your  valuable  time,  especially  under  the 
circumstances.  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  appreciate 
the  privilege  of  being  the  first,  the  very  first,  to  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  new-found  happiness.  Every- 
thing is  clear  now !  Do  you  —  er  —  shall  I  keep  it  secret 
for  the  present?" 

"Certainly  not,"  he  answered  angrily.  "It  was  in 
all  the  Southern  papers  two  weeks  ago." 

"  Oh,  how  delightful,  that  I  shall  be  allowed  to  speak 
of  your  good  fortune  to  others!  And  it  is  invested 
in  Boston  real  estate,  you  say?" 

By  this  they  had  reached  the  door.    Orchid  paused  for 


AT    BAY  105 

another  congratulatory  hand-grasp.  Upon  the  threshold 
she  stopped  again,  and,  lifting  big,  innocent  eyes,  said 
confidentially,  "Van,  there  is  just  one  more  question  I 
want  to  ask.  Don't  think  me  rude.  But  your  people, 
you  told  me,  were  such  intense  abolitionists  — !  Is  —  er 
—  your  bride  white  ?  " 

When  Norton  returned  he  found  books,  chairs,  and 
rugs  lying  about  in  attitudes  that  suggested  the  visit  of 
a  small  cyclone. 

"  Regular  scrapping  match,  by  George !  "  he  said  under 
his  breath.  "I  wonder  if  any  hair  is  lying  around. 
What  did  you  say  to  her,  Van?  She  danced  through 
the  hall  smiling  like  a  triumphant  Circe." 

A  muffled  and  thunderous  murmur  came  from  the 
region  of  Van's  desk. 

"Beg  pardon!  I  didn't  quite  catch  on  to  your 
remark. " 

No  reply. 

Norton  seated  himself  leisurely,  and  said,  in  an  im- 
pressively lowered  tone,  — 

"  Van,  old  boy,  you  'd  better  look  out  for  that  woman. 
She  means  business !  " 

Van  looked  up. 

"  Did  you  say  that  Simpson's  receivership  dated  from 
the  first  of  January  ?  " 


CHAPTER   X 

A   BELATED    HONEYMOON 

FOR  the  next  three  weeks  Craighead  was  up  to  his 
ears  in  work,  and  would  scarcely  have  thought  of  Truth 
at  all  had  not  the  necessity  of  transferring  her  property 
forced  his  attention  upon  the  problem  of  their  future 
relations.  Letters  beginning  "Dear  Mr.  Craighead" 
came  from  her  at  irregular  intervals.  She  wrote,  in  her 
large,  round,  childish  hand,  of  her  grandmother's  slow 
but  unmistakable  recovery,  and  of  their  ever-increasing 
desire  to  get  back  to  the  quiet  old  Alabama  homestead. 
In  return  he  sent  them  money,  and  minute  responses  to 
their  requests  for  advice.  Evidently  the  two  women 
had  begun  to  look  to  him  as  an  infallible  guide  in  mun- 
dane affairs.  Meanwhile,  all  papers  relating  to  the  tes- 
tamentary disposition  of  the  estate  of  the  late  Mr.  Eugene 
Dexter  had  been  handed  over  to  Van  by  the  executor, 
Judge  Adams,  who  apparently  regarded  the  matrimo- 
nial venture  of  the  young  lawyer  as  a  clever  piece  of 
business.  The  document  sent  to  Truth  for  signature 
came  back  subscribed  in  very  precise  chirography, 
"Truth  Dexter." 

A  stage  in  the  negotiations  was  finally  reached  where, 
in  Van's  judgment,  his  wife's  presence  was  indispen- 
sable ;  and  he  communicated  this  fact  with  delicacy  both 
to  Truth  and  Mrs.  Dexter.  There  was  a  more  personal 
motive  for  wishing  her  to  come ;  that  of  freeing  himself 
from  the  awkward  position  of  a  brideless  groom.  He 
knew  that  people  were  beginning  to  whisper.  People 
always  did!  The  thought  of  Orchid  was  a  burning 
scar. 

His  last  letter  to  Truth  met  with  no  response.  Mrs. 
Dexter's  answer  was  as  follows :  — 


A    BELATED    HONEYMOON  107 

VALUED  FRIEND,  —  In  this,  the  first  letter  which  I  have  been 
able  to  write  you,  I  must  begiu  by  tendering  my  heart-felt  thanks 
for  your  many  great  kindnesses  to  my  granddaughter  and  myself 
at  the  time  of  our  recent  terrible  bereavement.  My  health  being 
now  much  improved,  I  am  filled,  day  by  day,  with  deeper  longings 
for  that  dear  old  home  which  will  welcome  me  with  such  a  host  of 
blessed  memories,  the  home  where  my  bridal  days  were  spent,  and 
where  my  long  married  life  came  to  its  sudden  pause.  I  have  been 
talking  very  seriously  with  Truth  concerning  this  new  state  of  mat- 
rimony into  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  call  her;  and  I  think  I  can 
now  assure  you  that  she  will  not  be  unwilling  to  accompany  you  to 
your  Northern  home.  As  is  most  natural  under  the  circumstances, 
she  is  much  concerned  at  the  thought  of  so  great  a  change,  and 
somewhat  overcome  by  maiden  timidity.  I  fear  that  I  scarcely 
realized,  in  my  own  selfish  grief,  the  importance  of  the  step  my 
little  girl  was  taking.  With  regard  to  the  other  matter,  that  which 
brought  you  to  our  quiet  home,  —  I  have  no  power  or  desire  to 
understand  it.  I  am  in  God's  hands,  and  to  Him  I  trust  my  dar- 
ling's future.  Do  not  think  that  I  mean  to  imply  that  what  you 
did  was  not  for  the  best.  I  trust  you  entirely.  How  could  I  do 
otherwise  when  I  reflect  upon  the  noble  generosity  which  led  you 
to  assume  the  care  and  responsibility  of  two  helpless  women  ?  May 
you  never  have  cause  to  regret  it ! 

Truth  is  a  dear,  good  child,  somewhat  boisterous  at  times,  and  a 
little  wayward ;  but  she  has  fine  instincts  and  generous  impulses. 
And  now,  my  dear  Mr.  Craighead,  I  feel  urged  by  conscience  to 
touch  upon  a  very  delicate  subject.  I  have  read  that,  in  many  of 
the  Northern  cities,  forms  of  religious  worship  are  sadly  changing, 
and  that  prayer  is  no  longer  considered  a  staff  on  which  the  soul 
must  daily  lean.  I  feel  sure  that  you  cannot  belong  to  this  class 
of  erring  ones,  and  that  you  and  Truth  will  kneel  together  night 
and  morning,  as  I  shall  kneel  here,  alone,  to  invoke  from  our  lov- 
ing Father  protection  and  help  in  the  vicissitudes  of  this  mortal 
life.  That  God  may  keep  you  both,  shower  upon  you  His  richest 
blessings,  and  at  last  lead  you  into  the  haven  of  His  Kingdom,  is 
the  earnest  wish  of 

Your  obedient  servant, 

DOROTHY  SPOTTSWOOD  DEXTER. 

Van  read  this  letter  through  with  a  smile  that  was  at 
times  humorous,  and  again  tender.  "  Sweet  old  soul !  " 
he  murmured  to  himself.  "  It  is  something  to  have  won 
the  confidence  of  a  woman  like  that.  But  I  hope  she 
won't  try  to  put  me  through  my  catechism  when  I  go 
down  after  Truth."  Even  at  the  moment,  however,  he 
felt  that  she  would  never  broach  the  subject  again  to 


108  TRUTH    DEXTER 

him,  and  he  was  not  mistaken.  Mrs.  Dexter  had  put 
her  whole  plea  into  that  one  letter,  feeling  it  a  more 
delicate  way  of  conveying  her  meaning  than  any  dia- 
logue, however  carefully  worded. 

It  was  now  nearing  the  end  of  March.  Truth  and 
her  grandmother  had  returned  to  the  old  mansion  under 
the  guidance  of  the  experienced  nurse  Van  had  put  in 
charge.  This  worthy  personage  returned  to  Biloxi  the 
following  day  much,  it  must  be  confessed,  to  the  relief 
of  her  charge.  A  few  days  were  given  them  to  wander 
about  the  dear  familiar  place,  and  then  came  the  after- 
noon when  Van  was  expected.  It  was  a  time  of  sus- 
pense and  trial  for  both  women.  It  would  be  their 
first  separation.  Truth  had  assumed,  all  along,  that 
Mrs.  Dexter  would  accompany  them  to  the  North,  and 
Van  had  insisted  strenuously  upon  it ;  but  the  old  lady 
was,  for  once,  obdurate.  "Young  people  are  better 
to  themselves,"  she  said,  and  no  remonstrances  could 
move  her. 

As  for  Truth,  the  pang  of  parting  was  but  one  of  a 
dozen  apprehensions.  She  was  about  to  face  the  great, 
strange  world,  "alone,"  as  she  expressed  it  to  herself. 
Somehow  Mr.  Craighead,  when  absent,  seemed  to  detach 
himself  from  her  throbbing  personality,  and  to  persist 
in  clinging  as  a  mere  detail  to  the  wall  of  objectivity 
that  stood  vaguely  over  against  her.  She  peered  into 
her  own  future  with  the  feelings  of  a  child  who  has 
chanced  to  find,  at  last,  the  mysterious  door  in  the  oak- 
tree,  or  the  ring  of  a  buried  stone  which,  once  lifted,  is 
to  open  the  way  to  wild,  impossible  adventure.  Though 
instinctively  afraid  of  Van,  she  was  more  innocent,  more 
ignorant  of  the  world  than  many  a  city  child  of  eight. 
The  most  definite  foreboding,  shared  in  almost  equal 
measure  by  her  grandmother,  was  that,  of  all  places, 
Boston  should  be  forced  upon  her  as  a  home.  She 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  her  uncle's  long  life  of 
banishment  and  remorse  in  that  cheerless  region,  and 
wondered  if  she  would  have  to  live  in  the  very  house 
he  had  occupied.  To  them  the  very  name  "Boston" 


A    BELATED    HONEYMOON  109 

presented  a  vision  of  a  great  theatrical  stage,  lighted 
with  red  fire,  across  which  ran  and  shrieked  wild-eyed 
abolitionists,  atheists,  infidels,  blasphemers,  women  in 
bloomers,  and  possibly  a  late  witch  or  two.  Boston 
had  been  the  centre  of  the  coarsest  invective  against 
the  South ;  from  it  had  issued  the  great  locust-scourge 
of  carpet-baggers  ready  to  devour  the  few  green  things 
left  to  the  ruined  land.  Even  now  in  that  city  negroes 
were  treated  as  ladies  and  gentlemen,  even  addressed  as 
"Mr."  and  "Mrs."  Mrs.  Dexter  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  her  granddaughter  risking  social  proximity 
to  any  of  that  race  of  slaves. 

Van  was  on  his  way  to  Dexterville.  The  days  were 
longer  now  than  when  he  first  made  that  memorable  trip, 
and  a  warm,  yellow  glow  hung  late  in  the  evening  sky. 
Truth  drove  alone  to  the  station  in  the  light  "buggy." 
On  the  road  down  she  stopped  beneath  a  bay-tree,  and 
stood  on  the  buggy  seat  to  gather  an  early  blossom. 
Smiling  to  herself,  she  placed  it  at  the  throat  of  her  black 
dress,  where  it  lay  like  a  beautiful  work  in  ivory  and 
silver. 

At  the  station  she  did  not  drive,  as  usual,  to  the  open 
space  of  red  clay,  but  remained  half  hidden  among  a 
group  of  young  hickory  bushes.  Her  heart  gave  a 
strange  throb  as  she  heard  the  whistle  of  the  engine. 
She  drew  back  still  farther,  and,  unseen  by  Craighead, 
watched  him  spring  out  upon  the  platform,  greet  the 
grinning  agent  familiarly,  and  look  about  for  Norah. 
The  beating  of  her  heart  grew  louder.  This  stranger's 
presence  smote  her  with  a  sense  of  nearness,  as  of  a  fate 
she  had  always  known,  an  almost  dear  reality  that  bound 
her  to  the  tragedies  of  that  awful  February  week.  She 
felt  for  a  moment  as  if  she  were  stifling.  Then,  with  a 
determined  little  gasp,  she  sprang  from  the  buggy  and 
hurried  up  to  the  platform. 

"  Why,  Truth !  Is  it  really  you  ?  "  cried  Van,  smil- 
ing with  genuine  pleasure  as  she  approached.  "And 
how  well  you  are  looking!  "  He  seized  both  her  hands 
and  gazed  frankly  into  her  eyes.  Her  own  lowered 


110  TRUTH    DEXTER 

instantly,  her  face  grew  scarlet,  and  she  stammered  in 
her  eagerness  to  speak  naturally,  as  she  said,  — 

"Oh,  I  'm  lots  and  lots  better!  Grandma  is  too.  It 
seems  like  it  was  almost  wrong  for  us  to  get  well  so  fast. 
But  it  was  comin'  home  that  really  made  her  better. 
Oh,  she  is  so  good  and  patient  and  sweet !  " 

Forgetting  herself,  she  lifted  radiant,  shining  eyes  to 
her  husband. 

"I  can  believe  it!"  he  cried  heartily.  "I  want  to 
hear  all  that  you  have  said  and  thought  and  done  since 
getting  back." 

They  drove  up  to  the  Big  House,  Truth  holding  the 
reins.  Van  noticed  her  fine,  strong  hands,  with  the 
sunburn  dark  upon  them. 

"You  will  have  to  wear  gloves  in  Boston,"  he  re- 
marked in  a  friendly  tone. 

She  looked  down.  "  Will  I  ?  "  she  asked  seriously. 
"I  know  I  '11  hate  them.  I  never  had  gloves  on  in  my 
life." 

"A  Boston  lady  would  just  as  soon  think  of  going 
out  without  her  boots." 

"  Good  heavens !"  Truth  turned  startled  eyes  upon 
him.  "  Do  ladies  wear  boots  up  there  ?  "  She  was  think- 
ing of  her  grandfather's  heavy  jack  boots.  In  the  South 
all  footgear  for  ladies  falls  under  the  terms  "shoes,"  and 
"slippers."  Van  was  puzzled.  He  glanced  furtively 
at  her  feet.  She  wore  neat  buttoned  boots  of  rather 
coarse  leather. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  her  question.  Then 
suddenly  he  began  to  fumble  in  his  inner  coat  pocket. 
Taking  from  it  a  small  parcel,  he  gave  it  to  Truth. 

"I've  brought  you  a  little  remembrance  —  a  little 
wedding  present,"  he  said,  laughing  in  a  slightly  embar- 
rassed way. 

"  For  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  her  sweet  face  flush- 
ing. "  Oh,  take  the  reins,  quick,  please,  while  I  open 
it ! "  She  transferred  the  ancient  corrugated  straps  to 
her  companion,  but  paused  to  ask,  somewhat  anxiously, 
"Do  you  reckon  you  can  hold  Moses?" 


A    BELATED    HONEYMOON          111 

Now  Moses  was  a  mule  who,  for  patience,  meekness, 
and  longevity  fairly  rivalled  his  illustrious  namesake. 
Van,  thinking  of  the  quivering  thoroughbreds  he  had 
guided  at  white  heat  along  the  smooth,  fair  highways 
of  suburban  Boston,  laughed  aloud. 

"I  reckon  I  can  manage  him." 

Truth,  reassured,  began  to  open  the  parcel.  With 
trembling  fingers  she  removed  the  pretty  pink  string  and 
the  glazed  white  paper.  Within  was  a  plain  leather 
case.  She  fumbled  a  moment  at  the  unaccustomed 
spring.  Van  put  one  gloved  finger  just  on  the  right 
spot  and  the  top  flew  open,  revealing,  on  a  bed  of  white 
velvet,  a  chatelaine  watch  of  exquisite  workmanship. 

"  Oh !  oh !  "  she  gasped.  "  Is  it  for  me,  really  ?  It 's 
too  beautiful!  Oh,  Mr.  Craighead,  I  've  wanted  a  watch 
all  my  life!  They  seem  so  sort  of  alive.  They  keep 
you  company  so." 

"  And  you  never  had  one  before  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  Grandma's  got  one,  all  full  of  little  pic- 
tures and  diamonds,  but  it  won't  go.  It  has  n't  gone 
since  the  war.  Grandpa  said  that  its  heart  —  he  meant 
its  spring  —  broke  with  the  heart  of  the  South.  But 
this  one  is  a  million  times  prettier.  Oh,  thank  you 
again,  Mr.  Craighead !  "  She  nestled  closer,  with  the 
unconscious  caress  of  a  happy  child. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  have  brought  you  something  that 
pleases  you  so  much,"  said  the  young  man.  Her  nai've 
appreciation  was  irresistible. 

They  drove  on  for  some  time  in  silence.  Truth  for- 
got to  resume  control  of  "Moses,"  in  her  frequent  peeps 
at  her  new  treasure.  The  box,  with  its  mysterious 
spring,  was  almost  as  enchanting  as  the  watch  itself. 
For  once  she  was  unobservant  of  wild-flowers  or  birds ; 
but  Craighead  noted  with  what  lush  beauty  the  woods 
had  adorned  themselves  during  the  month  of  his  absence. 

The  old  house  looked  statelier  and  more  peaceful  than 
ever  under  the  green  decoration  of  a  thousand  unpruned 
branches.  Norah,  driving  a  mottled  cow  into  the  lane, 
stopped  short,  and  scraped  and  bowed  with  such  empha- 


TRUTH    DEXTER 

sis  of  welcome  that  his  white  woolly  head  came  near 
to  entanglement  in  a  bunch  of  weeds.  Mrs.  Dexter 
met  them  at  the  door  with  the  same  sweet  smile  which 
the  Colonel's  first  introduction  of  Van  had  awakened. 
Doubtless  she,  too,  held  this  young  man  in  sacred  asso- 
ciation with  the  last  great  tragedy  of  her  life.  She  did 
not  look  older  because  of  her  great  suffering,  only  more 
fragile,  more  pure  and  white.  No  touch  of  rebellion 
lingered  in  her  patient  face,  but  there  was  a  pathetic 
wistfulness  in  her  eyes,  a  looking  forward,  a  loosening 
of  bonds  from  earth.  As  Van  had  anticipated,  the  sad- 
ness of  the  master's  absence  hallowed  even  the  common 
things  of  daily  life  in  that  household.  It  was  like  the 
hush  after  a  supreme  symphony,  or  the  tingling  silence 
that  precedes  an  impassioned  prayer.  It  was  much  to 
Van's  credit  that  he  could  appreciate  the  subtle  essence 
of  such  an  atmosphere. 

Yes,  the  link  between  Mrs.  Dexter's  past  and  Truth's 
future  was,  indeed,  Craighead.  She  greeted  him  almost 
affectionately,  and  hers  was  the  first  voice  to  suggest  the 
immediate  departure  of  the  young  couple.  Through  it 
all  she  did  not  falter,  not  even  under  the  final  embrace 
of  her  granddaughter. 

They  drove  off  in  the  same  little  buggy,  but  this  time 
the  reins  were  in  Craighead's  hands.  Truth's  one  trunk 
lay  in  an  open  compartment  in  the  rear.  Turning,  she 
leaned  over  this  to  wave  a  last  kiss  toward  the  slender 
figure  still  standing  between  the  high  pillars  of  the 
veranda.  The  green  boughs  of  trees,  folding  one  upon 
another  at  each  forward  motion  of  the  horse,  soon  blotted 
out  the  old  home.  Van  nerved  himself  for  a  burst  of 
tears,  but  none  came.  Truth  resumed  her  seat  beside 
him,  adjusted  her  share  of  the  lap-robe  with  shaking 
fingers,  and  then  began  peering  about  from  side  to  side 
of  the  road,  down  into  flowering  grasses,  up  among  bud- 
ding tree-limbs,  and  out  through  opening  vistas,  all  with 
a  strange  and  desperate  eagerness. 

"Are  you  searching  for  anything?"  Van  asked,  at 
length. 


A    BELATED    HONEYMOON          113 

"  Oh, "  she  exclaimed  with  a  start.  She  had  forgotten 
his  presence.  "No,  sir,  I  'm  —  I  'm  —  only  just  callin' 
things  down  into  my  heart,  to  take  with  me." 

Old  Norah,  who  had  come  to  drive  the  buggy  home 
again,  stood,  with  the  freckled  agent  on  the  platform, 
and  waved  them  a  mournful  good-bye. 

The  next  morning  in  the  train  Truth  looked  out  of  the 
window  with  all  the  eagerness  of  a  child.  Once,  at 
the  sight  of  some  negro-farce,  enacted  in  pantomime  at 
the  side  of  the  road,  she  burst  into  a  clear,  merry  laugh, 
a  laugh  full  of  incipient,  melodious  chuckles  and  sliding 
half-tones  that  made  one  think  of  quick  water  over 
pebbles.  The  few  passengers,  all  Southerners,  laughed 
too  in  sympathetic  enjoyment  of  her  spontaneity;  but 
Van  flushed  and  stiffened  perceptibly.  Truth  caught 
his  expression,  and  laughed  no  more. 

Soon  after  this  she  turned  from  the  window,  ap- 
parently weary  of  the  passing  show.  Van  leaned 
toward  her  and  began  a  conversation.  She  answered 
pleasantly,  but  without  interest.  He  withdrew  into 
his  own  thoughts,  and  a  long  silence  followed. 

When  next  he  looked  at  her  she  had  fallen  asleep. 
Her  fair  head  was  thrown  in  an  uncomfortable  position 
against  the  dingy  gray  cover  of  the  seat.  He  motioned 
to  the  porter  for  a  pillow,  and  hesitated  a  little  before 
making  a  rather  awkward  attempt  to  slip  it  under  her 
cheek.  As  his  hand  touched  her  she  awoke  with  a 
start,  and,  turning  an  intense  scarlet,  she  thanked  him, 
collapsed  upon  the  pillow,  and  shut  her  eyes  tighter 
than  before. 

Van  regarded  her  with  some  irritation.  Her  childish 
self-consciousness  and  timidity,  carried  thus  into  pub- 
licity, were  extremely  distasteful  to  him.  As  he  looked, 
her  eyelids  quivered,  and  two  large  tears  forced  them- 
selves out  from  the  dark  lashes  and  coursed  diagonally 
across  her  half-averted  face.  Their  damp  path  collected 
particles  of  dust  and  ashes,  which  she  made  no  attempt 
to  wipe  away.  A  quick,  sharp  pang  pierced  to  the 
young  man's  heart.  He  picked  up  a  paper,  shook  it  out 

8 


114  TRUTH    DEXTER 

savagely,  and  burrowed  his  head  in  it,  his  thoughts 
reaching  forward  restlessly  to  the  probable  manifold 
frictions  of  their  joint  future. 

At  Providence  Station  a  buoyant  figure  rushed  to 
meet  them,  struggling  under  the  weight  of  a  huge 
pyramidal  bouquet.  It  was  Norton,  of  course. 

"  How  did  you  know  we  were  coming  by  this  train  ? 
I  didn't  wire  you!"  was  Van's  not  very  cordial 
greeting. 

"  Been  coming  to  every  train  for  two  days !  "  replied 
the  unabashed  youth.  "  This  is  the  third  bouquet  I  've 
worn  out!  " 

Van  laughed  in  spite  of  himself. 

Truth  was  hanging  back,  stunned  by  the  rush  of 
sound,  as  a  thousand  eager  passengers  hurried  past  her. 
Had  she  heard,  she  would  not  have  understood  the  cool 
banter  of  these  Northern  chums. 

"Mrs.  Craighead,"  said  her  husband,  making  way  for 
her  with  an  excess  of  manner,  "  this  is  my  law-partner, 
Mr.  Quincy  Norton." 

Norton's  eyes  were  fairly  glistening  with  eager  inter- 
rogation and  kindly  welcome,  as,  in  lieu  of  the  ordinary 
hand-shake,  he  held  out  his  absurd  offering.  Truth 
gave  him  one  grateful  look,  clear  and  fresh  as  the  note 
of  a  bird,  and  letting  handkerchief  and  parasol  fall 
unheeded  to  the  ground,  seized  the  flowers  with  both 
hands. 

"Oh,  the  sweet  things!  the  dear  things!"  she  cried 
in  delight.  "  And  how  lovely  they  smell !  Thank  you ! 
Thank  you  ever  so  much,  Mr.  —  Quinsynawtun !  I  'm 
so  much  obliged !  " 

"You  like  'em!  "  cried  the  junior  partner,  in  rapture. 
"You  won't  let  Van  lecture  me  for  coming  down  to  the 
train,  will  you,  Mrs.  Craighead  ?  " 

Truth's  face  sobered  as  she  looked  at  her  husband. 
Let  Van!  Sooner  would  she  think  of  interfering  with 
Moses  and  the  twentv  dynasties  of  the  Pharaohs! 

"  That 's  all  right,  old  chap !  "  Van  broke  in.  "  You 
mean  well,  I  know.  You  must  come  up  to  see  us  just 


A   BELATED    HONEYMOON          115 

as  soon  as  we  are  settled ;  for  I  hope  you  and  Truth  are 
going  to  become  great  cronies. " 

"If  'cronies '  mean  friends,  I  am  sure  we  will,"  said 
Truth,  shyly. 

"It 's  a  bargain!  "  chuckled  the  effervescing  youth. 

A  few  moments  later  the  ill-acquainted  couple  drove 
off  in  state  to  their  new  home.  It  had  been  a  late 
winter  in  the  North,  and  as  they  turned  out  of  Park 
Square  (into  Boylston  Street)  hundreds  of  gayly  dressed 
young  people  were  darting  swiftly  across  the  frozen  lake 
in  the  Public  Garden.  Truth  uttered  an  amazed  "  Oh!  " 
and  stared  with  all  her  might.  "  They  're  only  skating, " 
was  Van's  laconic  information.  Scanning  the  faces  of 
pedestrians  on  the  Boylston  Street  Mall,  the  little  bride 
remarked,  with  some  relief,  that  they  did  not  look 
altogether  inhuman.  But  the  shop-fronts,  with  their 
enormous  plate-glass  windows,  mosaiced  in  gorgeous 
costumes,  deep-toned  Oriental  rugs,  or  glittering  Jap- 
anese screens,  seemed  visions  of  impossible  splendor. 
The  squareness  of  the  streets,  the  absence  of  trees,  the 
vista  of  colossal  stone  palaces  along  Arlington,  the 
carved  animals  over  the  windows  of  the  Natural  History 
Building,  the  terraced  steps  of  the  Institute,  the  air- 
hung  pyramids  of  Trinity's  towers,  and,  more  than  all, 
the  stupendous  white  fortress  of  the  Public  Library 
dominating  Copley  Square,  oppressed  her  with  a  sense 
of  magnificence,  of  civilization,  of  the  power  of  the 
North,  of  the  presence  of  man,  which  belied  every  gen- 
eralization of  her  rustic,  untutored  youth.  It  was  her 
first  revelation  of  a  real  city. 

The  carriage  stopped  before  "The  Hanover,"  one  of 
the  most  fashionable  apartment  hotels  in  that  new  resi- 
dential district  so  queerly  named,  "The  Back  Bay." 
Van  had  felt  some  apprehension  as  to  Truth's  debut  in 
this  metropolitan  world,  and  shot  more  than  one  critical 
glance  toward  her  as  she  followed  him  up  under  the 
marble  portico,  and  into  the  great  heated  space  of  the 
palm-fringed  hall.  She  was  carrying  herself  well, 
almost  disdainfully.  As  he  handed  his  umbrella  and 


116  TRUTH    DEXTER 

valise  to  a  jaunty  negro  bell-boy,  she  followed  suit  with 
bag  and  parasol,  in  a  manner  even  more  condescend- 
ing than  his  own.  She  was  a  haughty  young  aristocrat, 
in  spite  of  her  ill-fitting  clothes.  The  boy,  who  was 
done  up  in  green,  with  brass  buttons,  ushered  them 
into  a  drawing-room.  Here  stood  tall  porcelain  vases, 
decorated  profusely  in  gold  and  colors.  Colossal  mir- 
rors and  oil-paintings  glared  from  the  lofty,  tinted  walls. 
The  heavy  furniture  was  carved,  and  covered  with  deli- 
cate brocade. 

Van  just  had  time  to  ask  his  bride,  "  Well,  what  do 
you  think  of  it  ?  "  and  that  bewildered  young  person  to 
reply,  "It's  mighty  big!"  when  the  incipient  conver- 
sation was  cut  short  by  the  reappearance  of  the  gentle- 
manly darky  with  a  bunch  of  long  brass  keys.  "We 
are  to  be  shown  to  our  rooms,"  said  Van,  rising. 
Truth  followed  without  question,  and  the  three  entered 
a  little  cushioned  closet  about  the  size  of  a  railway 
compartment.  As  it  suddenly  shot  up  into  the  air,  she 
turned  a  little  pale,  but  remained  quiet,  with  head  erect. 
"  She  's  a  trump !  "  thought  Van,  remembering  his  ex- 
perience with  a  fair  cousin  from  Maine,  who,  in  her  first 
elevator,  had  fallen  prone  upon  him,  shrieking  to  be 
saved. 

The  negro  unlocked  the  door  of  the  suite  which  Van 
had  engaged,  and  then  drew  back  respectfully  for  the 
young  couple  to  enter.  Truth  went  in  first,  and  paused, 
with  an  involuntary  gasp.  It  was  like  pictures  of  the 
French  palaces  in  her  "History  of  Napoleon."  There 
were  four  connecting  rooms,  and  a  bath -room,  all  painted, 
frescoed,  and  furnished  in  white,  gold,  green,  and  rose. 
The  gleam  of  crystal  and  brass,  the  soft  tints  of  yielding, 
plushy  carpets,  and  flowered  window-hangings  dazzled 
with  indescribable  splendor  the  eyes  of  the  little  country 
maid.  She  was  led  from  room  to  room,  but  made  no 
comment.  The  situation  was  more  than  she  could 
comprehend. 

"Well,  Truth, "asked  Van,  a  little  piqued,  "aren't 
you  pleased  with  it?" 


A    BELATED    HONEYMOON  117 

"  Ye-e-s,"  she  answered  thoughtfully.  "  I  never  knew 
there  was  any  such  houses  out  of  fairy -stories,  or  palaces 
in  history.  But  what  is  it  for?  You  don't  mean  that 
we  are  —  that  I  am  —  goin'  to  live  here !  " 

"  Yes,  of  course !     Why  not  ?  " 

"  But  what  can  we  do  with  the  rest  of  it  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  laughed  Van,  taking  in  her  perplexity.  "  Did 
you  think  it  was  all  ours?  We  've  taken  only  this  little 
corner  suite;  but  we  can  have  it  always  for  our  own,  fit 
it  up  just  as  we  like,  and  make  it  into  a  real  home." 

"But  I  don't  see  any  kitchen  and  dining-room." 

"No,  we  take  our  meals  in  the  restaurant.  You  will 
have  no  responsibilities  of  housekeeping  whatever,  and 
can  do  just  what  you  please." 

Truth  looked  even  more  puzzled.  "Then  do  other 
people  live  here,  too?" 

"  I  should  say  so,  —  about  three  hundred !  " 

"  And  will  they  like  to  have  me  live  with  them  ?  " 

Van  sighed  at  her  mediaeval  ignorance.  "  I  had  better 
tell  you  something  about  apartment  hotels,  I  guess." 

"  I  wish  you  would  !  "  said  Truth,  humbly. 

"  Well,  take  for  a  premise,  say,  fifty  families,  with  an 
average  income  of  five  thousand  a  year.  Naturally  they 
want  to  get  from  that  sum  the  greatest  possible  amount 
of  comfort  with  the  least  possible  friction." 

"  Of  course !  "  Truth  nodded. 

"  This  can  best  be  done  by  co-operation ;  so  they  con- 
tribute proportional  expenses,  build  a  big  house  like  this, 
take  what  rooms  each  pleases,  and  live  by  machinery. 
The  house  is  heated  by  great  furnaces  in  the  basement; 
cooking  and  laundry -work  are  done  by  organized  forces  ; 
there  are  telephones,  messenger  service,  barber-shops, 
Turkish  baths,  reading-rooms,  for  common  use,  —  every- 
thing, in  fact,  except  theatres,  churches,  and  hospitals, 
under  a  single  roof." 

"  How  splendid ! "  cried  Truth,  much  impressed. 
"And  did  you  help  to  build  this  one?" 

Van  laughed.  "I  was  giving  you  the  principle,"  he 
said.  "The  reality  is  quite  a  different  thing.  As 


118  TRUTH    DEXTER 

actually  conducted,  they  are  built  by  a  speculator,  and 
run  by  a  manager.  The  two  divide  the  spoils." 

"  Then  why  do  the  people  come,  if  they  are  run  by  bad 
men  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  do  it  for  their  wives'  sake.  The  modern 
woman  is  far  above  housekeeping.  She  must  broaden 
her  mind,  and  elevate  her  soul.  It  does  n't  matter  what 
becomes  of  husband  or  children!  " 

"  That  sounds  awful !  "  said  Truth,  ashamed,  though 
she  did  not  quite  know  why.  "Don't  any  of  the  ladies 
here  have  anything  to  do  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  they  find  plenty  to  do,  such  as  it  is,"  an- 
swered Craighead,  with  a  bitter  smile.  "They  go  to 
dressmakers  .  and  hair-dressers,  Turkish  baths,  mani- 
cures, chiropodists,  palmists,  astrologers,  and  masseuses. 
They  have  soul-ecstasies  over  Ibsen,  fall  into  trances 
at  the  symphony  concerts,  and  flirt  with  Jean  de  Reszke. 
They  infest  the  business  part  of  the  town,  demanding 
that  men  shall  sign  long  scrolls  of  woman -suffrage  peti- 
tions, go  off  to  their  club-houses,  where  we  are  not 
allowed  to  follow,  and  afterwards  grovel  at  the  feet  of 
Oriental  priests,  large  fat  priests  with  melting  eyes,  and 
a  transcendental  appreciation  of  American  flesh-pots. 
They  rush  from  clinical  lectures  to  spiritual  stances, 
from  sociological  meetings  to  swell  afternoon  teas,  from 
Olympic  games  where  Harvard  darlings  get  their  collar- 
bones cracked  to  Zoroaster,  from  Professor  Choice's 
exposition  of  the  Unknowableness  of  the  Ding  an  Sick 
to  a  performance  of  Shakespeare  by  females  in  tights. 
They  read  books  on  Mathematics  and  Logic,  and  carry 
them  into  street-cars  with  their  titles  uppermost;  they 
dress  up  in  becoming  aprons  and  frizzled  hair,  to  paint 
impressionistic  smudges.  They  discuss  Theology  in 
the  same  breath  with  the  latest  tonic.  They  quote 
Emerson,  and  tear  one  another's  characters  to  pieces 
with  the  same  smile.  Men  are  their  chief  toys  and 
subjects.  A  husband  is  a  sort  of  sheet  armor  and  cash- 
register  in  one ;  other  men,  legitimate  victims  for  vivi- 
section, if  caught." 


119 

"Oh,  Mr.  Craighead!  how  perfectly  dreadful !  How 
can  you  bear  to  live  in  such  a  place?  Grandma  was 
afraid  of  Boston  —  " 

Van  laughed  harshly,  but  with  the  laugh  his  senses 
returned.  He  had  been  thinking,  perhaps,  of  one  typical 
woman,  who  embodied  most  of  the  virtues  and  vices  of 
his  rapid  denunciation. 

"Don't  look  so  frightened,  child!  Perhaps  I  exag- 
gerated. I  believe  they  are  harmless  in  the  main.  Of 
course  there  are  plenty  of  noble  women  here,  as  every- 
where. I  spoke  rather  of  the  frivolous  leaders  of  fash- 
ion, who  acknowledge  no  duties,  and  are  stung  by  the 
gadfly  of  intellectual  ambition.  It 's  as  much  the  fault 
of  the  men  as  the  women.  They  are  a  pack  of  over- 
ridden fools! " 

Truth  gazed  at  him  imploringly.  She  longed  to  tell 
him  that  she  would  never  do  a  single  one  of  these  horrible 
things.  He  caught  the  childish  pleading  of  her  glance. 

"I  'm  not  afraid  of  you,  little  girl,"  he  said  kindly. 
"  I  believe  you  have  been  better  brought  up.  But  there 
are  many  things  that  you  will  need  to  study,  and  I  want 
you  to  do  so,  only  be  careful  not  to  run  into  fads." 

Soon  after  this  he  went  down  to  the  office,  and  Truth 
was  left  alone.  As  she  ventured  to  explore  the  luxuri- 
ous apartment  by  herself,  and  began  to  unpack  and  put 
away  her  few  shabby  personal  belongings,  she  felt  light- 
hearted  to  think  that  she  already  possessed  some  of 
those  very  qualities  which  differentiated  her  from  these 
dreadful  Northern  women. 

When  Van  returned  from  a  short  sojourn  at  the 
"office,"  the  hotel  elevator  was  at  the  very  top  of  the 
tall  heap  of  brick  and  stone.  Not  caring  to  wait  for  it, 
he  hurried  up  the  three  flights  of  stairs  to  his  apartments, 
where,  on  reaching  the  corridor,  he  was  surprised  to 
see  the  negro  bell-boy  crouched  before  the  door  with 
his  ear  to  the  keyhole.  At  sight  of  Craighead,  the 
negro  sprang  to  his  feet  and  slouched  away.  From 
within  the  room  came  the  low,  rich  tones  of  an  untrained 
contralto,  singing,  — 


120  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Aldo'  I  is  so  fah  away, 

I  hears  de  jay-bird  plain ; 
I  feels  de  gentle  breezes  play 
Among  de  sugar-cane. 

"  O  Alabamy,  fah  away  ! 

Sweet  home  ub  lub  an'  light, 

I  '11  sing  an'  play,  de  lib-long  day, 

But  dream  ob  you  at  night." 

He  opened  the  door  softly.  She  was  rocking  back- 
ward and  forward  in  a  little  gilt  chair,  her  eyes  closed 
and  her  head  thrown  back  as  she  sang  away  her  first 
pang  of  homesickness.  An  old-fashioned  daguerreotype 
of  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Dexter  taken  together  was  on  the 
mantle.  Over  the  frame  a  bit  of  gray-beard  moss  was 
draped,  and  a  little  pine-cone  stood  on  each  side. 

Van  had  not  the  heart  to  tell  the  child  that  it  was 
unusual  for  Boston  apartment-hotel  ladies  to  sing  negro 
songs  in  so  heartfelt  a  manner.  She  had  come  to  herself, 
with  a  start,  as  he  entered. 

He  took  the  little  ringless  hands  in  his  (he  had  not 
thought  to  buy  her  a  wedding  ring)  and  said,  very 
kindly,  "  Do  you  think  that  my  little  Alabama  princess 
can  be  happy  in  this  cold,  hard  Boston?  " 

"I  know  I  can  be  happy  with  you,"  she  answered 
bravely.  "And,  oh!  I'm  goin'  to  try  so  hard  to  be 
good. 

Van  felt  something  husky  and  warm  in  his  throat. 
"  I  fancy  that  will  not  be  very  difficult, "  he  said.  "  But, 
Truth,  look  here !  Would  you  go  back  to  grandma  to- 
morrow, if  you  could  ?  " 

Truth  hung  her  head.     "  N-o — o-o!  " 


CHAPTER   XI 

THREE  DUETS  AND  A  TRIO 

CRAIGHEAD  allowed  himself  another  day's  vacation, 
and  introduced  Truth  to  some  of  the  more  reputable 
of  Boston's  gods.  He  enjoyed  both  the  na'ivet^  of 
her  remarks  and  his  pride  in  his  own  condescension 
and  superior  breeding. 

First  they  drove  to  Deutschmann's,  where,  as  Craig- 
head  had  hoped,  they  were  too  early  to  encounter  the 
fashionable  throng.  But  a  great  many  richly  dressed 
persons,  male  and  female,  stood  about  in  indoor  cos- 
tume, a  few  of  whom  Van  addressed  with  a  polite 
and  even  familiar  "  Good-morning  1 "  Truth  wondered 
why  she  was  not  introduced  to  them,  and  felt  just  a  little 
tingle  of  mortification  until  she  discovered  that  they  were 
part  of  the  establishment.  Instinctively  her  manner  grew 
more  reserved,  and  she  did  not  notice  the  side  glances 
thrown  at  her  inadequate  raiment. 

Van  realized  that  he  knew  little  of  women's  gowns, 
also  that  his  wife  knew  less.  But  her  need  of  them  was 
apparent.  It  was  an  awkward  position ;  he  chose  hastily 
two  ready-made  costumes,  —  a  rich  greenish  silk,  covered 
with  jet,  and  a  street  dress  of  Pompeian  red,  heavily 
braided.  This  was  the  sort  of  gowns  that  Orchid  wore. 
A  haughty  "  saleslady  "  invited  Truth  into  one  of  the 
little  stalls  for  "trying  on,"  but  now  the  girl  asserted 
herself.  She  was  in  mourning,  she  said,  deep  mourning, 
—  and  could  n't  wear  anything  but  black.  Also  she 
couldn't  even  think  of  taking  off  her  waist  and  being 
fitted  in  that  strange  place! 

The  saleslady  was  compassionate.  "  Had  n't  I  better 
send  quite  a  number  of  half-mourning  gowns  to  your 
residence,  sir?  Maybe  the  lady  will  be  willing  to  try 
them  on  at  home." 


122  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  By  all  means ! "  cried  Craighead,  in  great  relief. 
"  That  is  by  far  the  best  plan.  Mrs.  Craighead,  you 
see,  is  quite  young  and  —  er  —  shy." 

The  saleslady  lowered  her  lids. 

"  Would  you  want  that  I  should  send  anything  else, 
sir?  Hosiery,  lingerie,  French  underwear?  I  have  a 
new  lot,  all  hand-made,  just  from  the  custom-house." 

Truth  turned  away,  scarlet. 

"  Yes,  send  them  all,  —  everything !  "  said  the  pur- 
chaser in  desperation.  "  Send  the  whole  shop ! " 

After  this  experience  the  carriage  was  dismissed,  and 
the  young  couple  walked  slowly  up  Boylston  to  Copley 
Square.  The  thin,  cold  wind  was  like  wine  to  Truth's 
blood,  and  brought  unwonted  tints  to  her  cheeks.  Snow 
was  such  a  novelty  that  she  scooped  up  a  handful  of  it 
from  a  shady  niche  beside  Trinity  Church,  and  proceeded 
to  make  a  snowball. 

She  insisted  upon  spelling  out  all  the  names  on  the 
face  of  the  Public  Library,  mistaking  them  for  a  list  of 
Boston's  departed  great  ones.  Within  she  appeared  over- 
whelmed at  the  vast  number  of  volumes.  "  Why,  I  did  n't 
know  there  was  so  many  books  in  the  whole  world !  "  she 
exclaimed.  As  for  the  hall-way,  her  impression  that 
these  must  be  the  "  golden  stairs,"  derived  confirmation 
from  the  diaphanous  physique  of  the  young  ladies  in 
Puvis  de  Chavannes'  fresco. 

On  entering  the  Art  Museum  she  shrank  back  in  dis- 
may, and  her  cheeks  became  crimson.  In  the  sculpture 
gallery  her  eyes  never  left  the  floor,  and  her  discomfort 
was  so  obvious  that  Van  took  pity,  and  led  her  to  an 
upper  gallery,  where  Japanese  No  dresses  and  French 
laces  soon  restored  her  to  tranquillity. 

From  the  third  day  Truth  was  left  alone,  like  a  forest 
bird  in  a  golden  cage.  Van  became  engrossed  in  impor- 
tant cases,  and  the  little  bride  was  too  timid  and  home- 
sick to  venture  out  alone.  Her  greatest  pleasure  and 
comfort  at  this  time  were  in  writing  long  letters  to 
her  grandmother. 

A  few  mornings  later,  when  they  had  met,  as  usual, 


THREE    DUETS    AND    A    TRIO       123 

in  their  pretty  drawing-room  and  gone  down  to  breakfast 
together,  Van,  across  the  tiny  restaurant  table,  broached 
a  topic  new  to  their  limited  conversation. 

"  Father  may  be  here  to  call,  this  forenoon." 

The  childish  face  opposite  lighted  up  with  pleasure. 
"  Will  he  ?  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad.  I  do  hope  he  '11  like  me." 

Van  felt  it  his  duty  to  discourage  undue  enthusiasm. 
"  You  must  not  expect  any  great  cordiality.  My  father 
is  a  just  man,  but  a  hard  one.  Remember,  he  is  a  New 
Englander,  and  his  temperament  partakes  of  the  climate's 
peculiarities." 

"  Then  he  ain't  like  grandpa  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  No  two  men  could  be  more  unlike.  And 
you  must  not  say  '  ain't '  in  Boston." 

She  looked  so  mortified  that  he  hastened  to  add,  "  But 
that's  all  right.  You'll  get  over  these  little  mistakes 
fast  enough.  As  for  my  father,  —  we  must  see  what 
Southern  gentleness  will  do  for  him." 

"  I  '11  surely  try,"  said  Truth,  humbly. 

From  the  hotel  drawing-room  window  she  watched 
Van  leap  upon  the  platform  of  a  car,  and  then,  hurrying 
to  her  rooms,  began  with  a  few  deft  feminine  touches 
upon  the  unfamiliar  material  to  make  the  place  as  home- 
like as  possible.  Under  the  pressure  of  this  new  excite- 
ment she  actually  ventured  down  Boylston  Street  to  a 
florist's,  and  came  back  laden  with  lilacs  and  lilies  of  the 
valley.  "  I  reckon  he  '11  like  Northern  flowers  best,"  she 
had  thought.  She  smiled  quietly  to  herself  as  she  moved 
about  the  rooms.  She  was  thinking  how  proud  she  would 
be  to  write  of  this  important  visit  to  her  grandmother. 

It  was  about  half  after  ten  when  an  office  boy 
knocked,  and  presented  the  card  of  "Mr.  Hiram  Van 
der  W.  Craighead." 

"  Tell  him  to  come  right  in,"  said  Truth,  eagerly. 

She  stood  waiting  with  nervously  clasped  hands ;  her 
heart  beat  so  that  the  pulsations  shook  her.  A  tall,  thin 
form  entered  the  room,  with  a  slight  stoop  in  its  car- 
riage, and  a  slow,  uncertain  step.  She  came  forward,  a 
slender,  charming  figure  in  black,  with  face  raised  as  if 


TRUTH    DEXTER 

in  expectation  of  a  caress.  She  was  dying  to  kiss  him 
and  call  him  "  father."  But  the  narrow,  wrinkled, 
unemotional  countenance  above  her  congealed  this 
hasty  tenderness,  and  the  smile  fell  from  her  lips,  as  a 
petal  from  a  blighted  rose. 

"  Good-mornin' !  "  she  faltered.  "  I  'm  very  glad  to 
see  you."  He  barely  touched  her  cold  fingers  with 
his  hard  old  palm. 

"  Good-mornin' !  "  he  answered  icily.  "  This  is  Van 
der  Weyde's  wife,  I  presume." 

In  her  embarrassment  she  did  not  ask  him  to  be 
seated,  but  he  now  walked  stiffly  across  the  room  to  a 
soft,  leather-cushioned  chair.  She  sat  down  at  a  little 
distance,  staring  at  him  dumbly.  The  old  man's  eyes 
wandered  with  a  look  of  disapprobation  among  the  lux- 
urious furnishings.  At  length  Truth  forced  herself  to 
break  the  awkward  silence. 

"  Mr.  Craighead  told  me  you  were  comin'." 

"  I  got  his  letter  yesterday  sayin'  you  was  up  here. 
He  didn't  inform  me  he  would  marry  when  he  went 
South,  but  I  feared  he  was  goin'  to  get  into  some 
trouble  in  them  parts." 

"  It  —  was  —  very  —  very  —  sudden,"  she  said,  with 
a  little  gasp  between  each  word.  "  I  wish  you  could  'a' 
been  there." 

Mr.  Craighead,  Senior,  looked  at  her  with  hard,  green- 
ish-gray eyes.  "  How  long  'd  you  known  him  ?  " 

"  About  four,  —  no,  five  or  six  days,  I  think,"  she 
stammered,  as  if  confessing  a  crime. 

"  It  don't  take  long,  these  times,"  remarked  the  old 
man,  grimly.  "  I  kept  company  with  his  mother  four- 
teen year." 

"  Did  n't  you  get  tired,  —  of  waitin'  ?  "  asked  the  girl, 
who  was  now  so  nervous  that  she  scarcely  knew  what 
she  said. 

*'  I  guess  not !  "  Her  father-in-law's  eyes  were  now 
little  cold  points  of  steel.  "  I  guess  it 's  better  to  git 
tired  before,  ruther  'n  after.  That 's  what  comes  o' 
these  suddin'  weddin's,  I've  heard." 


THREE    DUETS    AND    A    TRIO       125 

The  anger  of  his  words  was  clearer  to  Truth  than  the 
meaning.  She  clasped  her  hands  together  nervously. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  be  mad  !  "  she  pleaded.  "  I  did  n't 
mean  to  be  so  impolite,  —  but  I  just  thought  —  it  did 
seem  long. " 

After  a  pause  the  old  man  said  slowly,  his  eyes  on  the 
carpet :  "  My  eldest  son  was  killed  at  Dobbs  Ferry  ! 
They  could  n't  find  his  body  I  Van  der  Weyde  was 
brought  up  to  hate  rebels.  Did  your  folks  keep 
slaves?" 

"  Grandma's  father  had  six  hundred  on  his  cotton 
plantation,"  she  said  proudly.  "  I  don't  understand 
much  about  slaves  and  the  war.  That  was  too  long  ago. 
But  I  am  sorry  about  your  eldest  son.  That  must  have 
been  terrible !  I  —  I  did  n't  know  any  nice  people 
fought  among  the  Yan  —  on  that  side,  I  mean,  er  — 
grandma  said  —  " 

"  You  did  n't  know  what  ?  "  Her  visitor  was  staring 
in  a  sort  of  dazed  anger. 

"  Oh,  I  just  meant  any  of  the  first  families.  Now  I 
know  better.  If  Mr.  Craighead's  brother  and  your 
son  —  "  She  broke  off  to  look  in  his  face  with  a  tremu- 
lous, apologetic  little  smile. 

"  Humph ! "  grunted  the  old  man,  still  staring. 

"But  I  know  what  you  mean  about  this  son,"  she 
hurried  on.  "  He  ought  to  have  married  some  smart, 
fine  lady  up  North  here.  I  know  I  'm  not  half  smart 
enough  for  him!  He's  so  noble  and  good  and  hand- 
some !  But  it  all  came  so  sudden !  —  grandpa  died  — 
we  were  all  alone  —  he  was  so  good  to  us !  And 
grandma  was  about  to  die,  too  —  oh,  it  was  terrible  !  " 
She  hid  her  face. 

Old  Craighead  looked  puzzled,  but  pursued  the  tenor 
of  his  thoughts.  "  Van  der  Weyde  ain't  been  brought 
up  to  such  new-fangled  fixin's  as  these."  Again  he 
looked  about  the  room.  "  I  dunno  as  I  'd  V  chosen  his 
wife  to  have  such  expensive  habits." 

Truth  looked  up  amazed.  "  I  did  n't  choose  anything," 
she  said.  "I  ain't  used  to  them  either.  We've  been 


126  TRUTH    DEXTER 

poor  ever  since  the  war.  We  wouldn't  be  rich  now 
if  it  wasn't  that  Mr.  Craighead  made  me  take  the 
money." 

"  What  money  ?  " 

"  My  poor  Uncle  Eugene's.  I  did  n't  want  to  take  it. 
It  is  millions  and  millions,  I  believe.  I  took  it  to  save 
grandma." 

The  old  man  was  waking  up.  "  Who  was  this  Uncle 
Yewgene?" 

Truth  hung  her  head.  This  was  their  one  family  dis- 
grace ;  it  was  hard  to  have  to  reveal  it  so  soon. 

"  He  was  —  he  was  a  —  traitor  !  "  she  answered.  "  He 
sold  the  South  to  her  enemies,  and  fought  against  his 
own  brother.  He  said  he  was  goin1  to  leave  us  all  the 
money,  but  grandpa  told  him  not  to  dare  to.  Then  he 
died,  and  left  it  anyway,  and  Mr.  Craighead  came  down 
South  to  talk  about  it.  Then  daddy,  —  that 's  grandpa, 
—  got  mad  and  went  off  in  the  woods  on  Black  Betty 
to  think  about  it,  and  it  was  thinking  about  it  that  — 
that  —  killed  him."  The  poor  child  buried  her  face 
again.  The  recollection  was  too  much  for  her. 

The  old  man's  countenance  was  a  study.  This  was  a 
specimen  of  human  character  never  before  encountered. 
He  wondered  dimly  what  might  be  the  clue  to  such  un- 
heard-of sentiments,  —  whether  the  girl  were  imbecile,  or 
artful,  or  genuine.  The  last  supposition  was  the  most 
incredible  of  the  three. 

"  Where 's  your  property  located  ?  "  he  managed  to  ask, 
at  last. 

"  Here  in  Boston.  It 's  a  lot  of  stores  and  ugly  tall 
houses  down  by  Mr.  Craighead's  office.  He  took  me 
there  one  day  and  made  me  sign  a  lot  of  papers." 

"  He  did,  did  he  ?     Where  is  my  son  now  ?  " 

"I  —  I  don't  know.     At  the  office,  I  reckon." 

"  Does  he  leave  you  alone,  much  ?  " 

Truth  flushed.  "Of  course  he  goes  to  his  office." 
Her  tone  had  a  hint  of  resentment.  "  He  comes  up  to 
lunch  when  he  ain't  too  busy,  and  he 's  nearly  always 
here  to  supper,  —  I  mean  —  dinner." 


THREE    DUETS    AND    A   TRIO       127 

"  Is  he  here  evenings  ?  " 

"  He  is  your  son,  Mr.  Craighead.  If  you  want  to  know 
these  things,  I  wish  you  would  ask  him,  not  me." 

Old  Craighead  allowed  himself  a  grim  smile.  But 
Truth,  fearing  that  she  had  been  too  brusque,  said  ear- 
nestly :  "  I  don't  mind  bein'  left  alone  at  all !  I  'm  used 
to  goin'  to  bed  early,  an'  I  just  love  to  read  in  bed." 

"  Humph ! "  said  the  old  man  for  the  second  time  during 
the  interview. 

When,  soon  after,  he  rose  to  go,  he  took  her  hand  in 
his  and  held  it  clumsily  as  he  said,  — 

"  I  guess  you  '11  do.  You  're  a  good  girl,  and  I  ain't 
goin'  to  let  Van  der  Weyde  mistreat  ye." 

She  smiled  up  into  his  face.  "  You  need  n't  be  afraid 
of  that.  He  is  aw-fully  good  to  me.  But  I  do  get  a 
little  homesick  sometimes.  I  wish  you  'd  come  to  see  me 
real  often." 

On  the  way  to  his  son's  office  old  Craighead  left  the 
car  at  the  corner  of  West  Street  and  dived  for  an  early 
lunch  into  that  subterranean  retreat  known  to  bachelors 
and  busy  husbands  as  "  The  Old  Elm." 

"One  stein!  One  schnitzel!"  shouted  a  rubicund 
waiter  across  the  sanded  floor. 

At  the  table  in  front  of  him  sat  two  young  men,  Amer- 
ican musicians,  he  judged,  from  their  technical  use  of 
Teutonic-Italian. 

"  Were  you  at  Mrs.  Wiley's  musicale  last  evening  ?  " 
the  freckled  one  was  asking,  as  he  plunged  his  blond 
beard  into  the  foam  of  a  colossal  schooner. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  tall,  handsome,  and  haughty  genius 
who  was  regaling  himself  on  roast  goose  and  apple-sauce. 
"  Oefler's  trio  in  G  major  was  gut  — ganz  BrahmsiscTi, — 
notably  the  andante.  Little  Boyton's  sonata  tinkled  its 
affettuosos,  as  usual.  One  mince-pie,  if  you  please, 
Kellner!" 

"  Was  Van  Craighead  there  ?  That 's  what  I  want  to 
know !  "  queried  the  first. 

"No;   and  methought  the  fair  Orchid  looked   quite 


128  TRUTH    DEXTER 

lost  without  him.  I  suppose  he  prefers  her  little  t$te-d- 
Wes." 

"  He  's  married  now,  you  know.  A  rich  Creole  from 
New  Orleans !  She  's  ignorant,  they  say ;  and  I  don't 
suppose  our  cruel  siren  will  care  to  take  her  up." 

"  He  '11  go  to  see  Orchid  all  the  same.  Mark  my 
word !  "  said  the  tall  man,  wiping  his  Franco-German 
moustache.  "  She  is  n't  one  to  let  her  victims  off  so 
easily." 

"  He  neglects  the  girl  already,  so  Mrs.  Haines  says. 
They  have  a  suite,  you  know,  at  the  Hanover." 

"  Is  it  so  ?  "  The  tall  man  rose  to  depart.  "  Shall  I 
see  you  at  the  Symphony  to-night  ?  " 

"  Paddy  plays.     You  bet  I " 

"  Tra-la-la !  " 

Within  ten  minutes  after  this  pleasing  dialogue,  old 
Craighead  burst  unceremoniously  into  the  Milk  Street 
office.  He  made  no  movement  to  take  off  his  overcoat, 
but,  as  he  sat  down,  remarked,  "Saw  your  wife  this 
mornin'." 

Van  began  deliberately  to  pile  up  letters  in  squares,  as 
if  erecting  a  fortification  on  the  desk  before  him. 

"  So  you  had  to  go  down  and  marry  a  rebel,  did  n't 
ye  ?  "  the  affectionate  parent  went  on.  "  The  daughter 
of  a  slave-driver!  I  knowed  your  trip  to  the  South 
warn't  goin'  to  do  ye  no  good." 

"  I  believe  gentlemen  are  accustomed  to  refer  to  their 
daughters-in-law  in  terms  of  respect,"  put  in  Van, 
slowly  and  icily,  without  looking  up. 

"  I  ain't  sayin'  nothin'  against  the  girl,"  retorted  the 
old  man.  "Maybe  she's  a  darned  sight  too  good  for 
some  folks ! " 

Van  eyed  his  progenitor  warily. 

"  You  did  n't  marry  her  for  good  looks,  did  ye  ?  "  the 
latter  proceeded. 

"  I  consider  her  appearance  sufficiently  creditable. " 

"  An'  't  warn't  for  her  brains,  neither.  She  don't 
know  any  too  much !  " 


THREE    DUETS    AND    A    TRIO       129 

"  If  you  don't  approve  of  Mrs.  Craighead,  you  are  not 
obliged  to  continue  the  acquaintance,"  said  Van,  a  little 
hotly. 

"  'T  aint  her !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "  She  's  all 
right !  The  p'int  is,  what  you  done  to  make  her  marry 
you,  after  three  days'  courtin'." 

Van  drew  himself  up  indignantly,  but  his  father  scored 
on. 

"  Had  to  bribe  her  with  her  own  money,  did  n't  ye  ? 
Held  out  a  fortune  with  one  hand  and  married  it  back 
with  the  other  1  You  're  not  such  a  fool  as  I  thought." 

Van  bit  his  lip.  His  father  was  seldom  other  than 
acrid. 

"  No,  you  're  too  darned  smart !  The  silly  little 
thing 's  fallen  into  your  trap.  You  're  makin'  her  sign 
away  her  rights." 

"  Stop !  "  shouted  Van.  "  If  you  were  not  my  father, 
I  would  say,  *  You  lie  1 '  I  scorn  to  answer  your 
insinuations." 

The  old  man  looked  relieved ;  but  his  tone  was  still 
bitter  enough.  "  Then  you  ain't  goin'  to  set  up  rival 
cotton-mills  down  in  Alabamy?" 

"What  are  you  driving  at?"  asked  Van,  sharply, 
thinking  it  high  time  to  take  the  lead. 

"  Look  here,  Van  der  Weyde ! "  said  the  old  man, 
solemnly.  "  You  've  got  a  heft  of  responsibility  on  your 
soul.  I  come  to  tell  you  I  want  you  to  treat  that  poor 
little  thing  as  you  'd  ought  to.  She  's  lonesome  and 
homesick ;  and  you  're  just  leavin'  her  to  pine  away, 
now  that  you  've  got  her  money." 

"  I  don't  quite  follow  your  meaning,"  said  Van,  stiffly. 
"  She  won't  go  out  evenings.  I  've  asked  her  to  often 
enough.  She  's  in  mourning  for  her  grandfather,  she 
says.  Besides,  I've  got  the  biggest  case  coming  on 
that  the  Suffolk  bar  ever  saw.  The  money  's  hers,  I 
tell  you !  I  've  got  to  earn  my  own  living !  " 

"  That  ain't  it,  again  1 "  probed  the  old  man,  per- 
sistently and  slowly.  "  Why  don't  you  git  her  some 
friends  ?  Decent  folks,  I  mean.  Why  do  you  spend 

9 


130  TRUTH    DEXTER 

your  evenin's  with  married  women  where  you  dars  n't 
take  her." 

Streaks  of  red  lightning  began  to  vein  the  marble  of 
the  younger  man's  countenance.  "  Look  here  ! "  he  said 
angrily,  "  I  '11  stand  more  from  you  than  any  man  living 
—  but  —  "  His  lips  went  on  twitching,  though  articula- 
tion had  ceased. 

"  Did  n't  Mrs.  Wiley  invite  you  to  her  sworry  last 
evening?  " 

"  Mrs.  Wiley  1 "  Van  caught  his  breath.  How  in 
the  mischief  had  the  old  mouser  got  hold  of  that  name  ? 
"  No,"  he  answered  sulkily.  "  I  have  n't  seen  Mrs.  Wiley 
but  once  !  —  Damn  Mrs.  Wiley !  " 

"  A  proper  but  unnecessary  sentiment,"  remarked  the 
old  man,  still  more  relieved.  "  Just  you  remember,  I  'm 
goin'  to  see  that  Mrs.  Craighead  's  done  right  by,  now 
that  you  've  gone  and  married  her,"  he  added,  as  he  rose 
to  depart. 

As  soon  as  the  elevator  door  clicked,  Van's  conjectures 
began  rapidly  to  take  shape.  "  By  George,  the  old  gen- 
tleman was  on  the  war-path  1  I  wonder  what  Truth  said 
to  stir  him  up  so.  She  could  n't  have  been  complain- 
ing ! "  Here  the  young  man  frowned,  and  looked  vaguely 
about  his  office.  Then  he  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  Too 
early  for  luncheon,"  he  muttered.  "  Guess  I  '11  go  up 
anyhow,  and  give  Truth  a  surprise." 

After  her  father-in-law's  departure,  Truth  remained 
standing  at  the  window,  her  eyes  resting  in  dreamy  ab- 
straction upon  the  street,  with  its  bustle  of  passing  life. 
Van's  one  relative  was  sufficiently  unlike  her  lost 
Southern  ones,  in  all  conscience ;  yet  within  the 
shrivelled  old  husk  Truth's  childish  faith  had  discovered 
a  kernel  of  sweet,  nutritious  sentiment. 

"  I  believe  he  liked  me  right  well,  —  at  the  end,"  she 
murmured  to  herself.  "  And  I  will  just  love  him  into 
likin'  me  more." 

A  shining  coupe*  stopped  before  the  hotel  with  snort 
and  clatter.  A  faultlessly  attired  footman,  for  all  the 
world  like  pictures  she  had  seen  in  London  papers,  threw 


THREE    DUETS    AND   A    TRIO       131 

back  the  glass  door,  and  Truth  leaned  eagerly  to  watch 
the  occupant  alight,  —  a  slender,  graceful  woman,  brilliant 
in  rose-color  and  scintillating  with  jet.  She  gave  one 
swift  glance  toward  the  many  windows  of  the  great  build- 
ing, and  then  ran  jauntily  up  the  steps,  to  disappear 
beneath  the  marble  portico.  Truth  was  seized  by  an  in- 
explicable excitement.  What  a  dazzling  creature !  Invol- 
untarily she  contrasted  that  buoyant,  alert,  self-possessed 
being  with  her  own  shrinking  person. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  be  like  that ! "  she  thought. 
"  But  I  never  will  be.  I  'm  too  ugly,  and  —  scared  of 
things." 

An  instant  later  she  was  called  to  the  door  to  answer 
her  second  knock  of  the  morning.  On  the  tray  lay  a 
card  inscribed  "  Mrs.  Thomas  Courtney  Wiley." 

"  For  me  ?  "  asked  Truth,  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  for  Mrs.  Craighead,  mum." 

"  Ask  her  to  come  up  here,  then." 

"I  wonder  if  it 's  another  of  Mr.  Craighead's  kin-folks," 
she  had  begun  to  speculate,  when  a  soft  whisper  and  click 
of  jet  in  the  corridor  arrested  her  attention.  A  moment 
later  the  selfsame  radiant  figure  that  she  had  watched 
descending  from  the  carriage  glorified  the  doorway,  — 
poised  for  a  moment  in  her  flight,  as  it  were,  —  and 
then  advanced  frankly  toward  the  girl  with  outstretched 
hand.  Truth  had  no  opportunity  for  shyness.  Orchid's 
clear  voice,  already  lifted,  brightened  her  spirits  like 
sunshine. 

"  Van  has  never  mentioned  me,  I  presume  ?  Of  course 
not !  Young  husbands  never  do !  But  I  charged  him 
to  tell  you  that  I  should  be  among  the  first  to  call." 

Truth  was  smiling  now,  as  if  she  had  just  caught  a 
new  and  gorgeous  butterfly. 

"  No,  he  did  vtt  tell  me ! "  she  admitted  reluctantly. 
"  I  don't  see  how  he  could  have  forgot ! "  Her  childish 
face  was  full  of  admiration ;  but  Orchid  tossed  off  the 
naive  compliment  with  a  dainty,  deprecating  shrug. 

44 1  watched  you  gettin'  out  of  your  ca'iage,"  Truth 
went  on,  feeling  strangely  happy  and  at  ease  in  this  gra- 


132  TRUTH    DEXTER 

cious  presence.  "  But  I  did  n't  dream  you  was  comin'  to 
see  me  1  " 

"  Of  course  I  was !  Yes,  indeed !  I  could  not  rest 
until  I  had  seen  Van's  wife !  We  were  all  so  much 
interested  in  his  romantic  marriage  1  " 

"  Were  you  ?  "  said  Truth,  in  some  wonder.  "  Why,  I 
did  n't  know  anybody  up  here  knew  anything  about  it." 

By  this  time  Orchid  had  nestled  herself  comfortably 
against  the  cushions  on  the  little  gilt  sofa,  crossed  one 
knee  over  the  other,  and  was  laughing  directly  into 
Truth's  eyes. 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  she  cried,  in  answer  to  Truth's  last  re- 
mark. "  You  may  be  sure  we  did !  Let  me  see,  — 
you  're  from  the  South,  I  believe." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  girl,  simply,  "from  Alabama." 
A  film  of  sadness  blotted  out  the  new  sunshine  of  her 
face. 

"  I  Ve  never  had  the  pleasure  of  going  there  myself," 
Orchid  graciously  vouchsafed,  "  but  I  've  always  heard 
that  it  was  lovely." 

"  Oh,  it  is  lovely  !  "  cried  Truth.  "  Every  day  as  I 
think  about  it  it  seems  to  get  lovelier.  I  don't  see 
how  I  ever  left  it !  " 

"  Then  you  don't  like  Boston?" 

"I  —  I  —  did  n't  say  that,  exactly.  I  have  n't  seen 
very  much  of  Boston  yet.  Mr.  Craighead  took  me 
round  a  little  the  first  day ;  but  he 's  so  busy  now  he 
don't  have  time.  I  went  to  church  once,  but  it  did  n't 
seem  a  bit  like  church.  The  people  here,  talk  so  different 
from  us !  " 

"  They  do  indeed  !  —  Yes,  Southerners  are  famous  for 
their  soft  voices.  The  climate  of  New  England  makes 
us  literally  cackle." 

"  Oh,  no !  "  stammered  Truth,  "  I  did  n't  mean  that. 
I  only  meant  that  they  don't  pronounce  like  we  do." 

"  You  '11  soon  get  used  to  it,"  said  Orchid,  brightly. 
"  In  a  year  or  more  Bostonese  will  sound  to  you  as  famil- 
iar as  —  er  —  African.  But  now  tell  me  something  of 
your  home  in  the  South,  —  your  dear,  far-away  South." 


THREE    DUETS    AND    A    TRIO       133 

She  was  the  very  embodiment  of  sympathetic  cor- 
diality as  she  leaned  forward,  waiting  for  her  hostess  to 
speak  ;  and  the  childish  heart  of  the  poor  little  homesick 
bride  began  to  unfold,  like  a  flower  at  dawn. 

"  Well,  we  lived  in  Alabama,"  she  began,  "  in  a  great 
big  house  right  in  the  piney  woods.  There  used  to  be 
big  plantations  all  around,  but  now  there  's  nothin'  but 
Uncle  Norah's  cabin,  and  a  few  broken-down  shanties, 
—  and  the  fields  have  gone  to  grass." 

"  You  must  have  been  heartbroken  at  leaving  such  a 
place  !  " 

"  Well,  I  was  !  "  Truth  blurted  out.  "  But  I  had  to 
come  1  Grandma  said  it  would  be  a  sin  if  I  did  n't.  I 
was  married,  you  know." 

"  Grandma  was  eminently  right,"  said  Orchid,  gravely. 
"  And  then,  —  Mr.  Craighead's  feelings  !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  think  it  was  because  I  did  n't  like  him  !  " 
cried  the  girl,  quickly.  "  I  shall  never  forget  how  good 
he  was  in  all  that  trouble.  Why,  grandma  would  have 
died  if  it  had  n't  been  for  him  I  That 's  why  it  was 
all  so  sudden." 

Orchid's  green  eyes  had  been  gathering  emeralds. 
The  plot  was  deeper  than  she  had  thought. 

"  It  was  just  a  trifle  sudden,"  she  admitted,  though 
with  deprecating  gentleness.  "  Even  his  closest  friends 
were  unaware  of  the  engagement." 

Truth  hesitated  a  moment.  Surely  this  stranger  was 
one  to  be  trusted.  "We  wasn't  engaged!  "she  cried, 
with  explosive  confidence.  "  He  had  come  down  to  talk 
about  the  will.  Then  my  grandpa  was  —  killed  —  and 
grandma,  she  was  dyin',  and  Mr.  Craighead  took  charge 
of  everything  for  us.  We  were  about  to  starve,  he  said. 
So  just  because  he  was  so  good  and  noble  he  gave  up 
everything  for  our  sakes  and  married  me.  Oh,  you 
don't  know  how  good  he  is  1 " 

"  Perhaps  I  do,  —  better  than  you  think,"  smiled  Or- 
chid. "  He  is  noted,  even  in  Boston,  for  his  kind  heart." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  said  the  little  bride,  ingenuously. 
"  I  believe  he  is  the  best  man  in  the  whole  world  1 " 


134  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  I  envy  you  your  faith.  How  happy  you  must  be  in 
the  care  of  such  a  man  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  ought  to  be  !  I  know  I  ought  to  be  !  But  I 
can't  help  feeling  that  I  'm  not  old  and  —  smart  enough 
for  him.  It  worries  him  when  I  'm  scared  of  people. 
I  wish  I  could  begin  again  and  go  to  school,  —  but  I 
reckon  I  'm  too  big.  Besides,  I  'm  married." 

"  Why,  my  dear  !  "  broke  in  her  listener.  "  You  don't 
know  what  you  are  talking  about !  Let  me  inform  you 
that,  in  Boston,  forty  years  is  the  limit  of  youth,  eighty 
of  middle  age,  and  that  one  may  attend  school  up  to 
the  borders  of  physical  infirmity.  I  knew  an  old  lady 
who  began  to  study  Greek  at  ninety.  It 's  never  too 
late  to  get  culture ;  on  the  other  hand,  it 's  never  too 
early.  Let  us  begin  at  once !  I  foresee  great  fun  be- 
fore us.  You  have  never  heard  Paderewski  ?  —  good 
heavens  !  What  bliss  awaits  you  !  I  've  a  good  mind  to 
take  you  to-night  —  no  !  you  shall  hear  him  first  at  my 
house !  " 

Truth's  face  was  full  of  excitement,  but  the  light  died 
as  she  answered,  "  That 's  mighty  good  of  you  !  I  can't 
go  out  now,  except  to  church.  I  'm  in  deep  mournin'." 
She  glanced  down  along  the  folds  of  her  sombre  dress. 
"  Besides,"  more  shyly,  "  I  could  n't  go  without  Mr. 
Craighead." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear !  I  did  n't  say  he  was  n't  to 
come !  But  even  so,  he  would  be  delighted  to  feel  that 
you  were  spending  a  pleasant  evening  without  him. 
Boston  wives  generally  make  plans  without  consulting 
their  husbands." 

"I  —  I — don't  believe  I  ever  shall,"  said  Truth  in  a 
troubled  voice.  "  I  don't  think  I  should  ever  want  to !  " 

"  Oh,  you  're  too  delicious ! "  laughed  Orchid,  and 
clapped  her  little  gloved  hands  together.  "  You  are  an 
anachronism !  But  whether  you  want  to  or  not,  you  '11 
soon  do  it ! "  She  nodded  her  head  sagely,  but  there 
was  a  gleam,  not  wholly  of  amusement,  in  her  shining 
eyes. 

Truth  looked  still  more  troubled.    "  I  know  you  must 


THREE    DUETS    AND    A    TRIO       135 

be  jokin',  Mis's  Wiley,"  she  answered.  "  You  seem  too 
kind  and  good  to  be  one  of  those  bad,  wicked  married 
ladies  that  Mr.  Craighead  told  me  about !  " 

Orchid's  alert  vibrations  ceased  abruptly.  The  glance 
she  sent  across  the  room  was  like  a  poisonous  arrow. 

"  And  what  were  they,  if  I  may  ask  ?  " 

"  Why  —  why  —  "  stammered  Truth  —  "  of  course  he 
did  n't  mean  you,  —  please  don't  look  angry,  —  but  the 
kind  that  don't  work  or  care  anything  about  their  hus- 
bands, and  run  around  to  all  sorts  of  funny  lectures  with 
fat  melting  Hindoo  priests  —  and  like  to  dissect  other 
men  —  and  —  and  all  sorts  of  horrible  things  that  I  can't 
think  of  now.  But  I  promised  him  then,  and  I  swore  to 
myself  that  I  would  never  be  that  kind  of  lady  !  " 

In  the  whirlpool  of  conflicting  emotions  that  threat- 
ened to  engulf  the  listener,  a  quick  sense  of  humor 
gained,  for  the  moment,  precarious  dominance.  She 
laughed.  Then  she  laughed  again,  and  again,  until  her 
pendent  jet  was  in  glittering  convulsions. 

Truth  wondered  what  was  so  very  funny,  but  laughed, 
too,  in  sympathy. 

Orchid  was  now  slightly  hysterical.  Her  flimsy  lace 
handkerchief  was  soaked  with  tears.  She  fought  ob- 
viously, desperately,  with  the  increasing  paroxysms. 
When  finally  she  began  to  conquer,  the  reaction,  sweep- 
ing back  the  tattered  semblance  of  mirth,  left  bare  an 
ugly  wound  of  vanity,  whose  ache,  growing  momentarily 
deeper,  goaded  her  into  a  mad  desire  to  hurt,  to  crush, 
to  sting. 

She  hated  the  round  face  before  her,  with  its  big,  clear 
eyes.  Its  innocence  was  maddening  !  How  much  had 
Van  already  confided?  Her  voice  had  regained  its  usual 
low  sweetness,  as  she  said: 

"  Pardon  me  !  I  don't  know  when  I  have  laughed  so 
boisterously ;  but  your  description  was  excruciating ! 
Fortunately  I  have  not,  among  my  wide  circle  of  acquaint- 
ances, any  such  frenzied  harridans  as  you  have  pictured. 
The  women  I  know  are  companions  to  their  husbands, 
and  their  husbands'  friends ;  able  to  cope  with  them  in 


136  TRUTH    DEXTER 

discussions  upon  science,  politics,  or  philosophy, — widely 
read,  graceful,  exquisitely  dressed  women,  able  to  win  a 
man's  love  and  —  to  hold  it !  " 

Truth  hung  her  head.  Instinctively  she  felt  the  sting 
in  her  visitor's  smooth  voice,  and  knew  that  the  descrip- 
tion of  these  ideal  women  included  all  that  she,  Truth, 
was  not,  and  never  could  be. 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  meant,  —  the  kind  of  lady  that 
Mr.  Craighead  ought  to  V  married,"  she  said  miserably. 
She  bit  her  lips  to  keep  back  the  tears.  Orchid  did  not 
spare  her. 

"  Your  husband  is  one  of  the  most  brilliant  men  in 
Boston,  Mrs.  Craighead.  I  have  always  considered  it  my 
greatest  privilege  to  share  the  workings  of  his  splendid 
mind.  It  was  intoxicating  !  " 

"  Did  you  know  him  —  a  long  time  —  before  ?  "  asked 
Truth,  trying  to  make  her  voice  unconcerned. 

"  Oh,  ages  and  ages !  "  laughed  the  other.  "  He  was 
constantly  at  our  house.  So  you  see,  my  dear,  I  owe  you 
quite  a  grudge  for  marrying  him  before  I  could  interpose. 
But  it  is  all  in  the  past  now  !  "  She  gave  a  prolonged, 
sentimental  sigh.  "  He  used  to  argue  over  all  his  law- 
cases  with  me  before  venturing  to  take  them  into  court. 
I  anticipated  for  him  the  effect  on  both  judge  and  jury. 
It  is  hard  to  lose  it  all ! " 

Truth  bridled. 

"  If  he  wants  to  keep  on  —  I  —  "  she  was  beginning 
hotly,  when  the  door  opened  without  warning,  and  Van, 
his  hat  still  on,  entered  quite  breathless.  Seeing  Orchid 
he  stopped  short,  as  if  he  had  run  up  against  a  mesmeric 
barrier.  In  fact,  all  three  were  suddenly  struck  rigid, 
as  three  pillars  of  "salt.  Truth  was  still  indignantly 
erect;  Orchid  leaning  forward,  perched  lightly  on  the 
edge  of  the  sofa,  an  iridescent  kingfisher  about  to 
strike. 

She  was  the  first  to  recover  self-possession.  "  Never 
mind  your  wife,  Van !  but  take  off  your  hat  in  the 
presence  of  strangers  !  " 

He  jerked  off  the  offending  article,  muttering,  at  the 


THREE    DUETS    AND    A    TRIO       137 

same  time,  something  about  thinking  that  Mrs.  Craighead 
might  have  gone  down  to  lunch,  flung  his  outer  garments 
into  a  chair,  and  stood  looking  back  and  forward  from 
his  wife  to  Orchid,  as  if  to  say,  "  What  in  the  devil  does 
all  this  mean  ?  " 

His  old  friend  smiled  back  at  him.  "  Why  don't  you 
thank  me  for  calling  on  Mrs.  Craighead,  Van  ?  And  why 
did  n't  you  keep  your  promise  to  let  me  know  when  she 
came?  You  can't  expect  me  to  practise  telepathy  on 
you  —  now  !  " 

Van  glanced  at  Truth.  She  had  not  stirred.  What 
had  this  mischief-maker  been  saying  to  her?  He  saw 
that  the  situation  called  upon  him  for  an  extraordinary 
effort.  He  must  divert  this  stream  of  telltale  sarcasm 
from  her  ears,  and  at  the  same  time  blind  the  enemy  to 
the  depth  of  his  own  alarm.  He  regained  self-possession 
with  difficulty. 

"  Indeed,  Mrs.  Wiley,  I  thank  you  for  this,  and  many 
other  kindnesses ;  but  this  in  particular,  if  it  has  brought 
even  a  half-hour's  brightness  into  the  life  of  my  poor 
little  Southern  bride."  He  turned  from  Orchid  to  Truth, 
and,  smiling  into  her  dazed  eyes,  said  very  gently :  "  My 
dear,  I  've  hurried  up  from  the  office  to  tell  you  that 
I  've  managed  to  get  an  afternoon  off.  I  have  ordered 
an  open  carriage  filled  with  enough  foot-warmers  and 
fur  rugs  to  keep  even  a  tropical  lily  from  being  chilled, 
and  I  am  going  to  take  you  far  out  through  the  Fens, 
and  into  the  country." 

Truth's  face  relaxed.  "  Oh,  that  would  be  splendid !  " 
she  said.  "  Are  you  sure  that  you  are  not  too  busy  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure,  quite  sure,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  smile  that 
was  honied  balm  to  one  woman,  but  salt  in  the  wound  of 
the  other. 

"Won't  there  be  room  for  Mrs.  Wiley?  I'd  be 
mighty  glad  to  have  her  go  with  us  if  she  will !  "  The 
girl's  high  breeding  showed  through  her  homely  words. 

Orchid  bit  her  lip,  but  a  glance  into  Van's  blank  face 
restored  her. 

"  How  kind !    How  very  kind !  "  she  cried.    "  Indeed, 


138  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Mrs.  Craighead,  few  young  wives  would  be  so  generous. 
But  I  fear  that  it  would  prove  an  embarrassment  of 
riches  for  your  husband.  We  must  think  of  him,  too, 
you  know.  Besides,  how  could  I  be  so  cruel  as  to  in- 
trude upon  such  a  honeymoon  excursion,  especially 
since  you  have  hinted  that  they  are  all  too  few  ? " 

Craighead  broke  in  before  Truth  could  speak.  "  I  re- 
gret, more  than  I  can  express,  that  it  has  been  necessary 
for  me  to  leave  my  wife  so  much  to  herself,  but  from  to- 
day "  -  here  his  eyes  met  Orchid's,  flint  with  steel,  — 
"matters  will  change  for  the  better." 

"  How  perfectly  enchanting !  "  cried  she,  with  every 
appearance  of  sincerity.  "  And  have  I  unwittingly 
played  the  part  of  good  Samaritan,  to  rescue  this  bleed- 
ing conjugal  felicity  from  the  ditch  of  indifference? 
Well !  I  accept  the  responsibility,  and  will  be  guardian 
angel  to  both.  You  must  bring  the  dear  child  around  to 
me,  at  once  I  Shall  we  say  next  Thursday  evening  ? 
You  know  I  am  always  at  home  Thursday  evenings, 
Van." 

The  angry  color  mounted  to  Van's  brow,  but  his  voice 
was  steady  as  he  answered :  — 

"  You  overwhelm  us,  Mrs.  Wiley !  But  for  the  pres- 
ent, until  Mrs.  Craighead  is  more  thoroughly  acclimated, 
I  think  she  had  better  not  attempt  to  go  out  of  an 
evening." 

Truth  shot  him  a  glance  of  gratitude  which  did  not 
escape  the  keen  eyes  of  the  visitor.  Orchid  rose  sud- 
denly, her  silk  garments  rustling  like  a  whole  forest  of 
dead  leaves. 

"  Well,  I  see  that  I  am  to  be  defeated  at  every  turn  ! 
I  suppose,  Van,  it  is  too  much  to  ask  that  Mrs.  Craig- 
head  will  let  you  come  alone.  Ah,  I  am  bound  up,  heart 
and  soul,  in  that  tremendous  case  you  are  now  working 
out !  Continue  to  defy  the  law,  and  build  on  human 
frailty,  and  I  predict  an  overwhelming  success.  Good- 
bye, my  dear  Mrs.  Craighead !  It  has  been  a  new  sensa- 
tion to  meet  you !  "  She  lifted  a  curved  hand  to  the 
level  of  Truth's  chin. 


"Shake  hands,  Truth,"  said  Van,  trying  to  smile. 
"That  is  the  way  they  do  it  now." 

The  name  "  Truth  "  smote  on  Orchid's  ear,  and  rang 
in  her  brain  for  many  hours  to  come.     Truth  !     An  ab- 
surd, sentimental,  old-fashioned  name,  yet  how  strangely 
appropriate !      What  a  contrast   to  her   own   name,  — 
Orchid ! 

Craighead  accompanied  her,  as  in  duty  bound,  to  the 
elevator  door.  All  the  way  along  the  corridor  she  chat- 
tered like  an  excited  magpie.  "  Van,  I  congratulate 
you !  Such  a  charming  child !  Such  simplicity  of 
manner !  And  what  innocent  trustfulness  1  " 

Van  groaned  inwardly. 

"  You  did  n't  tell  me  half  the  romance  of  your  court- 
ship and  marriage.  But  I  will  not  grumble  now  that 
Mrs.  Craighead's  frankness  has  enlightened  me.  Is  she 
equally  communicative  to  all  visitors  ?  " 

Orchid  kept  her  hand  on  the  electric  button  a  moment 
before  she  rang,  and  spoke  now  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  You  need  not  fidget,  Van  !  I  did  n't  tell  her  much. 
I  saw  that  she  would  be  keen  enough  in  drawing  infer- 
ences. But  you  need  fear  nothing,  if  you  '11  only  let  me 
be  a  friend  to  you  both.  Remember,  I  'm  always  alone 
on  Thursdays." 

Her  face  wore  a  look  of  sweet  trustfulness,  almost 
equal  to  Truth's,  as  she  gazed  straight  up  into  his  eyes. 
But  Van's  face  was  marble.  He  had  not  trusted  himself 
to  speak  a  word. 

He  remained  outside  in  the  corridor  until  he  was  sure 
that  she  had  left  the  hotel,  and  then  hurried  down  into 
the  office  to  give  the  order  for  an  open  carriage. 


CHAPTER  XII 

AN  EXPERIMENT  UNDER   GLASS 

ON  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  Van  der  Weyde  Craig- 
head  swung  off  a  car  at  Arlington  Street,  and  began  to 
make  his  way  through  the  beds  of  brilliant  crocuses, 
tulips,  and  hyancinths  with  which,  carefully  transplanted 
from  suburban  greenhouses,  the  curatqrs  of  the  Public 
Garden  had  dared  to  defy  King  Frost's  waning  sover- 
eignty. The  smell  of  the  upturned  earth  was  pungent 
with  life.  In  a  single  night  Spring's  bridal  tunic  had, 
by  faiiy  looms,  been  woven.  Craighead  was  bent  on  a 
master-move  of  strategy. 

Passing  the  Ether  Monument,  he  came  out  on  that 
sunniest  part  of  Beacon  Street  which  fashionable 
residents  are  abandoning  to  fashionable  dressmakers, 
suffering  it  to  connect,  as  it  were,  by  the  handle  of  a 
dumb-bell,  the  two  aristocratic  bulks  of  the  Milldam  and 
Beacon  Hill.  At  the  door  of  one  of  the  last  of  these 
ancestral  palaces  Craighead  rang.  He  was  ushered  into 
a  long,  rectangular  room  panelled  to  the  ceiling  in  dull 
mahogany,  and  hung  with  curtains  of  yellow  many 
shades  darker  than  the  ancient  gilt  picture-frames.  The 
centre  of  the  polished  floor  was  raised  by  an  enormous 
camel's-hair  rug,  once  the  property  of  Napoleon  Third, 
whose  vandal  legions  had  borrowed  it,  according  to  tra- 
dition, from  the  audience  chamber  of  the  summer 
palace  at  Peking.  Across  this  spongy  bed  of  brown 
dragons  a  pleasant-looking,  middle-aged  lady  advanced 
to  meet  him. 

"  Why,  my  dear  Van  I  You  are  a  stranger,  indeed  I 
The  Judge  and  I  were  speaking  of  you  this  morning, 


AN    EXPERIMENT    UNDER    GLASS     141 

and  wondering  when  you  would  deign  to  break  the  seclu- 
sion of  your  honeymoon." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Mrs.  Adams ! "  replied  Craighead,  in 
his  most  impressive  manner.  "I  have  been  more  than 
ungrateful  1  But  Mrs.  Craighead  was  quite  worn  out 
with  nursing  a  sick  grandmother,  and  the  Judge  knows 
how  pressing  has  been  this  matter  of  recovering  her 
estate.  I  have  come  now  to  announce  that  we  are  dom- 
iciled at  the  Hanover,  that  she  is  quite  rested,  and  most 
anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

Mrs.  Adams  smiled  pleasantly.  "  My  dear  boy,  it  is  I 
who  am  to  blame.  Of  course,  I  knew  that  you  were  at 
the  Hanover,  —  who  in  Boston  does  not  know  ?  —  and  I 
should  have  been  to  call  on  your  little  bride  long  before 
this,  but  for  the  endless  succession  of  clubs,  lectures, 
and  charities  that  we  worldly  women  crowd  into  the  one 
short  space  of  Lent.  I  declare,  I  will  cut  the  Metaphysi- 
cians, and  go  to  her  at  once." 

"  No,  not  quite  so  soon,"  Van  laughed.  Then  his 
face  sobered.  "  May  I  not  talk  to  you  of  her  a  little, 
first  ?  I  feel  the  need  of  a  woman's  advice,  and  I  hoped 
that  you  would  be  willing  to  give  it." 

"  I  shall  feel  extremely  hurt  if  you  do  not  let  me 
know  everything  that  I  can  do  for  her.  My  mother,  you 
may  remember,  was  from  Louisiana.  There  is  a  free- 
masonry in  our  warm-blooded  race  unknown  to  you 
individualistic  Yankees." 

"  Oh,  if  you  will  help  me !  "  said  Van,  almost  boy- 
ishly. "  You  see,  I  have  to  leave  her  alone  so  much,  — 
the  Simpson  case,  you  know,  —  and  she  is  in  sore  need 
of  a  clear-headed  and  experienced  friend  to  guide  her 
through  the  bewilderment  of  her  first  impressions.  Bos- 
ton is  such  a  labyrinth !  She  is  only  a  child,  as  yet,  and 
her  education  less  than  rudimentary.  But  she  is 
unusually  responsive,  and  I  cannot  imagine  a  more 
delightful  problem  for  such  an  expert  as  you  than  the 
transplanting  of  this  little  thirsty  wild-flower  into  the 
soil  of  Athenian  culture." 

"  Is  that  all  you  want  ?     How  modest ! "  cried  the 


TRUTH    DEXTER 

lady,  with  sarcastic  playfulness.  "  A  sort  of  yellow- 
aster,  green-carnation  soul  development !  My  concern 
for  her  will  be  much  more  weighty,  I  assure  you ; 
namely,  how  she  is  to  dress,  and  whether  she  gets  proper 
physical  exercise,  and  how  she  may  best  preserve  her 
spontaneity.  You  men  have  n't  the  least  idea  what  goes 
to  make  up  a  charming  woman  !  But  you  are  right 
in  this,  my  dear  Van,  —  I  believe  I  am  just  the  chaper- 
one  she  needs.  I  can  introduce  her  to  all  desirable  cir- 
cles without  committing  her  to  any.  She  shall  taste  of 
the  native  elixir,  yet  not  be  stiffened  into  marble !  I 
am  anxious  to  get  to  the  task.  When  shall  we  begin?" 

"  You  have  taken  a  load  as  big  as  the  State  House 
from  my  heart ! "  exclaimed  the  young  man  with  a  great 
sigh  of  genuine  relief.  "  Had  you  denied  me,  I  should 
not  have  known  where  to  turn.  What  I  propose  now  is 
this :  that,  waiving  all  ceremony,  you  drop  in  to  dinner 
with  us  this  evening,  at  seven.  Bring  the  Judge,  too,  if 
he  will  come." 

"I  accept  with  pleasure,  though  I  have  my  doubts 
about  the  Judge.  The  poor  man  seldom  has  an  evening 
in  peace." 

Van  rose  to  depart,  repeating  phrases  of  gratitude.  His 
farewell  hand-grasp  —  it  seemed  to  him  the  ratification 
of  a  treaty  —  left  his  hostess's  plump  fingers  in  a  numbed 
condition. 

"  Mistress  Circe  is  foiled  for  once !  "  he  thought  trium- 
phantly, as  he  sped  over  the  hill  to  his  office.  His  good 
humor  did  not  escape  the  junior  partner.  "  How  much 
longer  are  you  going  to  keep  your  wife  cooped  up  in 
those  pigeon-holes  ?  "  that  youth  inquired.  "  Other  peo- 
ple might  like  to  get  a  glimpse  of  her  once  in  a  while." 

"  Come  up,  by  all  means,  my  boy  1  Come  up  to-night 
and  have  dinner  with  us ! " 

Norton  eyed  him  sarcastically.  "I  congratulate  you 
on  having  sense  enough  at  last  to  take  a  hint.  I've 
hinted  for  weeks.  Thank  you !  I  come !  " 

A  few  hours  later,  Craighead,  comfortably  arrayed  for 
the  evening,  ushered  through  the  door  of  his  dainty  suite 


AN    EXPERIMENT    UNDER    GLASS     143 

the  same  gray-haired  ambassadress  that  in  the  afternoon 
had  pledged  him  the  support  of  her  family  prestige. 

"  Truth,  my  dear,  this  is  Mrs.  Judge  Adams,  my  best 
and  truest  friend,  who  has  kindly  consented  to  be  your 
sponsor  in  your  Boston  debut" 

"  So  this  is  Van's  wife  !  "  said  Mrs.  Adams,  and  took 
the  girl's  hand  as  if  to  forestall  her  welcome.  "  Why  ! 
she  's  nothing  but  a  baby  !  Van,  —  '  with  a  shake  of 
her  gray  head  toward  the  smiling  husband,  — "  what 
business  has  a  crusty  old  bachelor  like  you  with  this 
jasmine  in  his  button-hole?" 

The  tone  in  which  these  words  were  uttered  —  and 
the  kindly  accompanying  looks  warmed  Truth's  heart. 
Still  retaining  her  hand,  Mrs.  Adams  went  on.  "  Did 
Van  tell  you  that  we  had  signed  a  deed  of  transfer  for 
your  little  person,  my  dear,  and  that  you  were  to  be  my 
daughter?  I  have  never  had  a  daughter." 

Truth's  face  was  brighter  than  she  knew.  Her  warm, 
childish  instincts  would  have  led  her  to  throw  herself 
into  the  kind  arms  before  her,  but  she  had  had  one  ex- 
perience of  Van's  lady  friends,  and  was  wary.  So  in 
response  to  the  pleasant  inquiry  she  answered,  as  she 
had  first  answered  Orchid,  — 

"  No,  he  did  n't  say  a  word." 

"  He  is  a  wise  man,  then,"  remarked  the  lady.  "  Hus- 
bands always  muddle  things !  Dreadful  institutions, 
are  n't  they  ?  I  wonder  why  they  were  ever  invented ! " 

Her  arch  manner  of  stating  this  revolutionary  senti- 
ment was  irresistible.  The  two  listeners  broke  into  sim- 
ultaneous laughter.  Truth  edged  nearer. 

"  Go  away,  Van ! "  cried  the  chaperone.  "  I  want 
Truth  all  to  myself.  Come  over  to  the  sofa,  dear, 
and  let  me  talk  away  some  of  that  homesickness  from 
your  pretty  eyes.  We  are  going  to  be  the  greatest  of 
friends.  No  one  can  resist  me,  once  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  win.  Now  tell  me  all  about  grandma,  and  the 
South,  and  home  ;  and  whether  Van  is  good  to  you,  and 
how  you  like  Boston  — 

In  a  moment  more  the  two  were  seated,  hand  in  hand, 


144  TRUTH    DEXTER 

and,  after  a  little  coaxing,  Truth  was  talking  with  an 
eagerness  that  brought  arbutus  buds  to  her  pale  cheeks. 

As  the  banished  Van  re-entered  to  open  the  door  to 
Norton's  genial  knock,  Truth  was  exclaiming,  "  Yes,  he 
takes  me  whenever  he  can.  We  had  the  most  bew-tee-i ul 
ride  yesterday,  out  to  the  Fens,  and  Cambridge,  and  way 
out  to  a  place  called  Milton.  I  wish  we  could  live  at 
Milton.  It  seemed  to  me  like  Paradise  Found  instead 
of  Lost." 

The  junior  partner  stood  close  by  Truth's  side  in  the 
elevator. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  are  making  friends,"  he  said  kindly. 
"  You  could  n't  find  a  better  one  than  Mrs.  Adams. 
She's  a  brick/" 

"  Saucy  boy ! "  murmured  that  lady ;  but  she  was 
smiling. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Adams  has  my  full  approval,"  continued 
Norton  ;  "  but  when  it  comes  to  Van,  —  "  here  he  gave 
a  furtive  glance  across  the  elevator,  and  lowered  his  voice 
in  a  theatrical  manner,  —  "  when  it  comes  to  Van,  and 
you  need  any  information,  just  you  tip  me  the  wink, 
Mrs.  Craighead !  " 

Van  glared  over  the  head  of  the  elevator  boy. 

"  He  does  n't  look  like  a  villain,  now,  does  he  ?  "  asked 
the  youth,  pathetically.  "  And  yet,  the  dark  and  bloody 
deeds  from  whose  dread  consequences  I  've  had  to  shield 
him  —  " 

"  Oh,  cut  it,  Quin !  "  laughed  Van.  «  Truth  has  n't 
learned  to  gauge  idiots  yet." 

"  What !  after  three  weeks  of  association  with  —  er 
—  with  —  er  —  ?" 

By  this  time  the  mosaic  floor  was  reached.  Van  and 
Mrs.  Adams  walked  on  several  feet  in  advance. 

"  I  'm  not  afraid  of  his  dark  and  bloody  deeds,"  said 
Truth,  looking  her  boyish  companion  full  in  the  eyes ; 
"  but  there  is  one  thing  I  would  like  to  ask  you." 

"  Great  Scott !  "  thought  the  youth,  "  is  she  going  to 
take  me  up  —  here  ?  " 

"I  want  to  ask  you,"  went  on  Truth,  whose  own hur- 


AN   EXPERIMENT   UNDER    GLASS    145 

ried  earnestness  blinded  her  to  the  fact  that  she  had 
received  no  answer,  "  whether  you  think  that  he  —  Mr. 
Craighead,  —  has  any  enemies  ?  " 

Norton  looked  at  her  keenly.  "  If  he  has  it 's  because 
they  are  jealous  of  his  good  fortune,  and  somebody's 
good  looks  1 "  he  said  in  a  meaning  tone.  "  Some  people 
can't  forgive  their  friends  for  being  happy.  If  ever  you 
meet  any  such,  don't  you  mind  a  word  they  say !  And 
if  they  trouble  you,  just  you  come  to  me,  and  I  '11  settle 
them!" 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you  so  much ! "  whispered 
the  girl,  grateful  and  embarrassed  in  one.  "  Maybe  I 
oughtn't  to  have  said  anything — " 

"  Don't  think  that  for  a  moment,"  said  Norton,  ear- 
nestly. "  Van  is  like  my  own  brother,  and  I  want  you 
to  feel  that  way  too,  in  time,  —  if  you  can." 

"  I  almost  do,  already,"  she  said,  with  sudden  impulse. 
The  eyes  she  lifted  to  his  face  were  very  beautiful. 

The  dinner,  prepared  to  Van's  order,  was  served  in  a 
private  room.  There  were  many  dishes  that  Truth  had 
never  seen.  Mrs.  Adams  and  Norton  kept  up  such  a 
running  fire  of  pleasantry  that  her  shyness  soon  wore 
away,  and  she  talked  as  naturally  as  in  her  latticed 
dining-room  at  home. 

"  What  funny  little  bird-legs !  "  she  exclaimed,  look- 
ing with  astonishment  at  a  delicately  garnished  dish. 
"  It  seems  a  kind  of  pity  to  cut  them  off  this  way,  don't 
it?" 

Norton  roared.  "Those  birds,  Mrs.  Craighead,  are 
our  nightingales  of  the  Fens  I  Eat  them ;  they  will 
make  you  musical !  " 

"Now  I  see  you're  funnin'.  What  are  they,  Mis's 
Adams?" 

"  They  are  frogs'  legs,  my  dear ;  and  are  considered  a 
great  delicacy." 

"  Frawgs'  legs ! "  echoed  Truth,  in  horror.  "  And  do 
you  really  eat  them  ?  " 

"  Why,  that 's  nothing !  —  nothing  !  "  said  Norton, 
airily.  "  When  I  was  out  West  last  year  we  were  glad 

10 


146  TRUTH    DEXTER 

to  eat  anything,  —  frogs,  lizards,  beetles,  tarantulas !  —  " 
here  he  wriggled  his  ringers  in  imitation  of  the  motions 
of  the  last-named  insect.  "  And  as  for  rattlesnakes !  — 
our  pifice  de  resistance  was  a  rattlesnake  stew,  flavored 
with  horn-bugs ! " 

"  Oh,  hush,  —  hush  !  "  the  girl  cried,  shuddering  vio- 
lently, but  laughing  the  while.  "  Make  him  hush,  Mis's 
Adams  1 " 

"  I  'm  silent,"  replied  the  incorrigible  one.  "  More 
frogs'  legs,  please !  I  may  be  asked  to  sing  to-night." 

After  dinner,  when  Norton  and  Craighead  had  retired 
to  the  latter's  study  for  a  congenial  smoke,  Mrs.  Adams 
again  sat  with  Truth's  hand  resting  confidently  in  her 
own. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,  my  dear,"  said  the  elder  lady, 
"the  little  I  have  been  able  to  gather  from  Judge 
Adams  about  —  your  uncle.  The  Judge,  you  know, 
was  his  executor." 

Truth  started  and  turned  pale.  This  was  a  subject 
she  would  have  shrunk  from  raising ;  but,  forced  upon 
her  now,  it  filled  her  with  painful  curiosity. 

"  You  have  been  brought  up  to  think  him  a  bad  man, 
and  a  traitor,"  Mrs.  Adams  went  on.  "  The  truth  is  he 
was  a  most  exemplary  citizen,  giving  away  in  unostenta- 
tious charity  the  greater  portion  of  his  income." 

"Don't  you  reckon  it  was  just  —  repentance?"  in  a 
very  low  voice. 

"  He  was  always  a  retiring  man,  but  scrupulously 
honorable.  Nothing  in  the  world  could  make  him 
swerve  from  what  he  thought  to  be  right.  He  was 
loyal  to  the  Union,  and  could  not  approve  of  his  state's 
secession.  It  was  his  very  love  for  the  South  that  filled 
him  with  such  grief  at  ter  error." 

Truth  withdrew  her  hand.  "  We  Southerners  do  not 
call  it  —  error !  "  she  said  stiffly.  "  My  uncle  was  a 
traitor,  and  a  disgrace  to  his  family !  One  reason  why 
I  can't  be  happy  is  because  I  feel  that  I  am  livin'  off 
blood-money." 

"  My  mother  was  a  Southerner,  too,  dear  child.     I  do 


AN   EXPERIMENT    UNDER    GLASS     147 

not  forget  that.  But  when  you  are  as  old  as  I  you  will 
be  able  to  look  at  these  questions  more  fairly,  and  realize 
that  there  may  have  been  good,  noble  men  on  both 
sides." 

"  Not  on  the  Yankee  side ! "  said  Truth,  stubbornly. 
"  Grandpa  said  that  the  whole  Yankee  army  was  made 
up  of  escaped  convicts  and  hired  negroes.  It  was 
Yankee  money  and  overpowering  numbers  that  beat 
us  !  Oh,  it  was  a  cruel,  wicked  war  !  " 

"Bless  me!  what  a  ferocious  little  rebel!"  cried  the 
elder  lady,  half  shocked  and  half  amused. 

The  advent  of  the  two  gentlemen  turned  conversation 
into  less  dangerous  channels. 

"  The  great  trouble  with  Boston,"  said  Norton,  swing- 
ing himself  into  an  easy-chair,  "  is  that  it 's  not  American 
at  all,  but  warmed-over  English !  " 

"  Irish,  you  mean,"  suggested  Van. 

"No;  English!  What  part  have  we  in  prairies, 
pork,  and  silver  ?  We  read  the  '  Athenseum  '  instead  of 
the  *  Bookman,'  and  we  can't  bear  the  hang  of  any 
but  London  '  twousers ' !  I  've  a  mind  to  migrate  to 
Montana." 

"  Quincy !  "  rebuked  Mrs.  Adams,  severely,  "  you  know 
that  what  you  complain  of  is  Boston's  glory  I  It  is  her 
cosmopolitan  outlook  that  gives  her  leadership.  Be 
grateful  for  your  privilege  of  keeping  in  touch  with  the 
best  the  world  affords!  Thank  Heaven!  Ideas  can 
flow  as  freely  across  the  Atlantic  as  wheat  and  gold ! 
I  've  no  patience  with  provincialism." 

"That's  what  I  mean,"  retorted  Norton.  "Boston 
is  an  English  province!  All  we  lack  is  a  Governor- 
General!" 

"  Shame  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Adams.  "  And  what  kind  of  a 
province  is  Montana,  —  Chicagoese  ?  And  is  n't  Chicago 
itself  a  German  province  ?  And  is  n't  Germany  even  a 
province  of  the  eternal  Greek  Empire  ?  No ;  in  spite  of 
your  unpatriotic  slanders,  we  do  not  kneel  to  any  lesser 
monarch  than  Plato ! " 

"  There  it  is  again !     Plato !  a  blarsted  foreigner !    I 


148  TRUTH    DEXTER 

appeal  to  you,  Mrs.  Craighead ;  should  n't  good  Ameri- 
cans read  American  books  ?  " 

Truth  was  as  excited  as  though  responsibility  for  all 
mankind  rested  upon  her  answer. 

"  I  did  n't  know  there  was  many  —  American  books, 
except  Audubon,"  she  said. 

A  simultaneous  shout  from  her  three  companions! 
She  shrank  back,  a  little  confused. 

"Oh,  how  could  you  go  back  on  me  so?  "  fell  Norton's 
reproach. 

"  Bravo !  The  girl 's  put  her  finger  on  the  very 
point !  "  rose  Mrs.  Adams's  exultation. 

"  I  am  sure  you  saw  plenty  in  the  Library  the  other 
day,"  remarked  Van. 

When  Mrs.  Adams  at  last  made  a  move  toward  depar- 
ture, she  held  Truth's  hand  affectionately  in  both  her 
own.  "  I  shall  call  for  you  to-morrow  at  nine,"  she 
said,  "and  introduce  you  to  several  of  your  future 
classes.  Though  there  be  no  American  literature,  bar- 
ring Emerson,  Hawthorne,  and  Audubon,  you  will  find 
that  the  rest  of  the  world  has  produced  some  very  good 
books." 

"  Remember,"  said  Norton,  sotto  voce,  to  his  youthful 
hostess,  while  her  husband  was  engaged  in  helping  Mrs. 
Adams  into  a  big  cloak,  "  you  are  to  discount  nine-tenths 
of  all  that  these  Boston  gossips  tell  you,  especially  if  it 
purports  to  concern  Van." 

Mrs.  Adams  was  as  good  as  her  word  ;  and  Truth  now 
entered  upon  the  most  amazing  curriculum  ever  devised 
for  a  poor  little  timid  Alabama  princess.  She  was  dressed 
in  gray  flannel,  and  set  to  scale  ladders  in  the  Swedish 
gymnasium.  Her  accent  was  broadened  to  true  Demos- 
thenic resonance  at  the  School  of  Expression.  She  took 
piano  lessons  of  Mr.  Bang  in  Chickering  Hall,  who  sup- 
planted her  former  studies  in  effete  German  sentimental- 
ism  with  the  neo-Italian  classics  of  Sgambati.  By  special 
arrangements  she  went  out  twice  a  week  to  Radcliffe 
College  for  a  course  of  Synthetic  History  and  Science ; 


AN    EXPERIMENT    UNDER    GLASS     149 

while  her  private  reading,  confined  to  English  literature, 
was  pursued  under  her  mentor's  direct  supervision.  Of 
course  she  attended  many  of  the  "  Lowell  Lectures," 
and  was  honored  with  membership  in  the  Shawmut  Art 
Students'  Association. 

Warily,  and  little  by  little,  Mrs.  Adams  introduced 
her  to  some  of  Boston's  most  noted  people ;  but  it  was 
the  very  exigencies  of  such  aristocratic  acquaintance  that 
formed  the  only  distasteful  portion  of  her  career.  She 
even  ventured  to  remonstrate  with  her  benefactress. 

"You  see,  they  don't  like  me.  Look  how  they  all 
stare  !  And,  when  I  talk,  they  listen  to  my  mistakes  in 
grammar,  instead  of  to  what  I  am  saying.  I  feel  like 
an  object  under  glass." 

"  It 's  your  own  over-sensitiveness,  my  dear.  They 
don't  mean  anything  by  it.  They  are  all  interested 
in  you  and  would  like  to  help  you.  Just  don't  think 
of  yourself  at  all,  be  as  natural  as  you  would  with 
*  grandma,'  and  they  will  like  you  for  your  own  true 
worth,  perhaps  all  the  better  for  your  occasional  mis- 
takes. It 's  piquant !  " 

"Don't  you  think  I  might  wait  until  I  have  learned 
just  a  little  bit  more  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not  I  This  social  training  is  exactly  what 
you  need.  Consider  it  part  of  your  School  of  Expression, 
an  exercise  in  self-confidence." 

Van  seemed  to  take  much  interest,  both  in  her  deport- 
ment and  her  studies.  His  slightest  hint  was  treasured 
in  her  memory  with  scrupulous  fidelity. 

"  Always  look  people  squarely  in  the  eyes  when  you 
speak  to  them,"  he  said  one  day.  "  I  have  noticed  that, 
especially  with  strangers,  you  sometimes  let  your  glance 
fall,  or  shift  about,  as  you  enter  a  room." 

"  But  won't  people  think  I  am  staring  at  them  ?  "  she 
asked,  recalling  how  often,  as  a  child,  she  had  been  re- 
buked for  indulging  in  this  very  rudeness. 

"No,  —  not  in  Boston,  at  all  events.  If  you  don't 
meet  their  eyes,  they  will  think  you  have  something  to 
conceal.  Now  look  straight  at  me  I  " 


150  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Truth  did  so,  her  large  eyes  clear  and  green  as  a  pool 
under  willows.  Van  looked  into  them,  and  thought  of 
another  pair,  green  also,  but  how  different!  Truth's 
were  like  a  mountain  tarn,  pellucid,  wherein  a  gazer 
might  discern  the  fine  white  sun-flecked  sand-drift  of  her 
innocent  heart;  the  other's,  emerald  sea-water,  opaque, 
restless,  hinting  of  strange  secrets  beneath,  and  ominous 
with  the  possibility  of  blinding  tempests. 

The  Craigheads  had  tacitly  combined  to  parry  Mrs. 
Wiley's  persistent  advances.  Her  first  visit  was  re- 
turned at  an  hour  when  Van  knew  she  was  likely  to  be 
absent,  and  Truth's  almost  unbroken  series  of  lessons 
and  lectures  rendered  Orchid's  subsequent  visits  abor- 
tive. With  this  leader  of  the  modern  ultra-fashionables 
Mrs.  Adams  was  not  intimate.  Evening  invitations  had 
been  declined  on  various  pretexts. 

The  first  social  encounter  was  at  a  Thursday  after- 
noon reception  of  Mrs.  Tooter's.  Here  one  was  always 
sure  of  finding  the  itinerant  lions  of  theatrical  and 
operatic  shows,  or  Major  Pond's  latest  Anglo-literary 
importation,  and  here  Mrs.  Adams  had  decided,  for  once, 
to  take  Truth,  saying,  as  something  of  an  excuse,  "  It  is 
our  nearest  approach  to  a  modern  salon  in  Boston." 

Orchid  was  already  there,  and  at  sight  of  Truth  gave 
a  little  start,  checked  an  exclamation,  and  then  hurried 
forward  with  hands  outstretched.  Her  voice  was  a  little 
louder  than  necessary  as  she  cried  :  — 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Mrs.  Craighead  !  Do  I  really  see  you 
at  last  ?  I  had  begun  to  think  you  a  myth." 

Truth's  eyes  met  hers  pleasantly  and  frankly.  "  I  have 
almost  begun  to  think  myself  one,  Mrs.  Wiley,  in  your 
wonderland  of  Boston."  Her  voice  and  manner  already 
showed  the  results  of  careful  training. 

"  Evidently  it  agrees  with  you.  I  never  saw  so  great 
an  improvement  in  so  short  a  time.  It  is  marvellous,  — 
marvellous !  " 

Many  people  turned  to  stare,  and  Truth  felt  the  blood 
rush  in  a  burning  torrent  to  her  cheeks. 


AN    EXPERIMENT    UNDER    GLASS     151 

"Van  was  always  a  superb  teacher,"  continued 
Mrs.  Wiley  in  a  lower  tone,  as  if  in  a  sort  of  pensive 
reverie. 

"  And  how  you  are  developing,  physically  !  There  is 
nothing  like  love  to  bring  out  the  spirituelle  in  one's 
face." 

Truth  glanced  about  miserably.  "  Have  you,  —  have 
you  seen  Mrs.  Adams  ?  She  went  off  somewhere." 

"  Professor  Choice  has  just  led  her  into  a  corner. 
That  means  at  least  half  an  hour  of  metaphysics.  But 
surely  you  don't  want  to  leave  yet,  when  I  have  just 
found  you  1 " 

Truth  did  not  attempt  a  reply. 

"  I  hear  that  Mrs.  Adams  has  installed  herself  as  chief 
guide,  philosopher,  and  friend." 

"  She  is  more  than  good  to  me,"  said  Truth,  fighting 
down  her  nervousness. 

"  You  are  fortunate  indeed !  Mrs.  Adams  is  so  exclu- 
sive !  Her  taste  in  dress,  too,  is  remarkable,  —  so  antique 
and  patrician  I " 

Suddenly  Truth's  face  flashed  into  such  brilliancy  of 
joy  and  relief,  that  Orchid  wheeled  about  to  find  the 
cause.  It  was  Norton,  bearing  down  on  them  through 
the  crowd.  Truth  could  not  wait  for  him  to  reach 
them,  but  struggled  in  his  direction  through  silk,  lace, 
jet,  and  broadcloth,  her  eyes  never  loosing  themselves 
from  his.  Orchid  stood  where  she  had  been  left,  and 
watched  the  scene  with  a  smile  that  was  not  good  to 
see. 

Norton's  glowing  face  was  a  replica  of  Truth's.  "  Here 
you  are  at  last,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  rose  over  the 
ceaseless  patter  of  commonplaces.  "  Beastly  jam,  is  n't 
it  ?  I  've  been  looking  for  you  for  an  hour." 

Truth  did  not  answer,  but  her  eyes  still  hung  on  his 
with  a  look  of  mute  thankfulness  for  her  deliverance. 
More  than  one  smile  and  pair  of  meaning  looks  were  ex- 
changed in  the  crowd,  but  Norton  and  Truth  went  off 
together  with  the  satisfaction  of  comrades  who  have 
chanced  upon  each  other  in  a  gloomy  wood. 


152  TRUTH   DEXTER 

Three  months  had  passed,  —  three  wonderful,  vivid, 
distracting  months,  in  which  Truth  had  been  caught  up 
as  a  leaf  in  a  golden  whirlwind.  New  thoughts,  new 
possibilities,  new  powers,  new  ambitions,  swept  in  upon 
her.  Her  mind  was  of  that  crystalline  texture  that  ab- 
sorbs and  holds  unlimited  quantities  of  impinging  light, 
throwing  it  back  and  forth  in  a  thousand  lucent  reflec- 
tions from  its  delicately  adjusted  facets.  She  wondered 
that  the  strangeness  of  its  revelations  should  often  seem 
so  familiar,  as  if  of  a  world  hers  by  birthright,  whose 
atmosphere  she  had  always  unconsciously  breathed.  If 
the  multiplicity  of  impressions  became  at  times  confusing, 
her  mental  vigor  remained  unimpaired. 

Physical  culture,  too,  brought  exhilaration.  Not  even 
her  childish  romps  in  the  woods,  with  the  sadly  missed 
dogs,  had  given  her  such  a  keen  sense  of  life  as  the  long 
walks  she  now  took  out  through  Cambridge  and  Brook- 
line,  where  she  gloried  consciously  in  the  muscular  energy 
of  each  elastic  step,  breathing  in  with  each  great  draughts 
of  air,  fresh  from  the  Appalachian  peaks.  Looking  west- 
ward from  the  summit  of  Corey  Hill,  she  marvelled  at 
the  miles  of  suburban  palaces  crusting  a  landscape  which 
Mrs.  Adams  remembered,  only  a  decade  ago,  as  sacred  to 
sequestered  farms  and  ancient  apple-orchards ;  or,  peering 
far  out  under  her  arched  hand  into  the  tossing  purple 
horizon,  she  wondered  how  often  Leif  Ericson  from  that 
selfsame  spot  had  tried  in  vain  to  pierce  the  mystery 
that  beleaguered  his  lonely  colony  of  a  thousand  years 
ago. 

And  yet  the  essentials  of  her  character  were  not 
changed.  The  sweet  simplicity,  purity,  and  honesty 
of  her  Southern  nature  reacted  as  healthily  as  ever 
against  the  temptations  of  her  new  environment.  Her 
unconscious  loyalty  to  ideas  grew  only  the  deeper  with 
her  release  from  narrow  association  and  formal  rigidity. 
A  thousand  adjuncts  of  belief  were  modified  for  her, 
and  broadened,  and  at  times  she  felt  herself  a  mere 
thistle-down  at  the  mercy  of  rival  and  entangling  cur- 
rents ;  but  through  the  rifts  of  even  her  giddiest  clouds, 


AN    EXPERIMENT    UNDER    GLASS     153 

she  never  lost  sight  of  the  great  firm  planet  of  faith 
beneath  her.  Perhaps,  too,  it  was  sometimes  a  fresh 
sense  of  humor  that  saved  her  from  mental  extrava- 
gance. Her  comments  on  her  fellow-Athenians  often 
excited  Mrs.  Adams's  mirth. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  these  Unitarians,"  she  inquired 
with  some  concern,  "  seem  very  anxious  to  make  people 
think  they  are  not  Christians  ?  " 

"Yes,  perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Adams,  laughing.  "But 
what  would  you  say  of  my  dear  Professor  Choice  ?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  Truth,  thoughtfully,  "  I  like  and  ad- 
mire him,  of  course.  But  somehow  he  makes  me  feel  as 
if  the  whole  world  has  been  degenerating  ever  since  the 
days  of  Pericles,  and  it  is  all  my  fault." 

But  it  was  the  Christian  Scientists,  the  Theosophists, 
and  the  Brahmo-Buddhists  that  bewildered  her  the  most. 
"  I  believe  I  really  do  have  a  strange  chill  down  my  back 
when  I  say  my  prayers  in  Sanscrit ! "  she  declared. 
"  That 's  a  sign  that  you  're  about  to  split  in  two,  like 
a  butter-bean,  and  become  a  Dhyan  Chohan ! " 

At  another  time,  when  she  had  returned  from  one  of 
the  most  riotous  sessions  of  the  Browning  Society,  she 
related:  "There  was  a  funny  little  affected  man  from 
Harvard  to-day,  who  told  us,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that 
it  was  the  Master's  very  transcendence  of  all  human  in- 
tel-li-gi-bil-i-ty  that  made  him  the  greatest  of  all  seers. 
And  then  all  the  old  ladies  smiled  through  their  specta- 
cles, and  nodded  to  one  another,  just  as  if  they  knew 
what  he  was  talking  about.  Just  fancy ! "  Mrs.  Adams 
marvelled  at  her  rapid  assimilation  of  words  from  the 
Boston  dialect. 

In  art  she  learned  to  admire  Monet  immensely,  appre- 
ciating with  half-closed  eyes  the  crumbling  substance  of 
his  light,  just  as  she  had  often  watched  her  Southern  sun 
veil  in  gold  mist  the  heavier  textures  of  hillside  blooms. 
But  she  could  not  bear  the  hard,  waxy,  corpse-like  bodies 
of  the  latest  Paris  figure-painting,  reminding  her,  as  she 
declared,  of  Fox's  mediaeval  martyrs.  Sargent's  apocalyp- 
tic decorations  in  the  Library  affected  her  strangely.  "  I 


154  TRUTH    DEXTER 

don't  ever  expect  to  know  what  it  all  means,"  she  said 
earnestly.  "  Perhaps  that 's  why  I  never  get  tired  of 
studying  it.  All  that  chaotic  mystery  of  wings,  and 
lions,  and  shadowy  creatures  makes  you  try  to  remem- 
ber something  that  must  have  been  ages  and  ages  ago, 
and  just  when  your  heart  aches  so  that  it  seems  about  to 
burst  and  spill  out  the  secret,  then  the  old  prophets  step 
out  from  their  places,  and  tell  you  that  there  is  no  use 
trying.  I  can't  keep  away  from  it !  All  the  other  fres- 
coes are  like  paper  dolls."  She  detected  just  a  little 
stuffing  of  bran  in  Millet's  sentiment,  at  least  as  exhib- 
ited at  the  Art  Museum;  and  a  very  offensive  stage- 
rhodomontade  among  those  old  European  masters  which 
she  had  the  misfortune  to  see  there.  But  she  was  ready 
to  worship  before  the  clear  beauty  of  Gilbert  Stuart's 
George  and  Martha  Washington.  "  Those  are  like  my 
Virginia  ancestors ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  and  how  much 
finer  the  pictures  are  unfinished ! " 

She  witnessed  her  first  theatrical  performance  in  Van's 
company,  and  her  first  orchestral  concert  under  Mrs. 
Adams's  gracious  patronage.  Beethoven's  Fifth  Sym- 
phony, though  she  could  not  understand  its  construction, 
not  even  from  the  analysis  of  the  learned  programmist, 
came  to  her  as  a  revealed  world  of  ethereal  quicksilver, 
which  promised  infinite  revelations  to  come.  But  at 
Duse's  unspeakable  restraint  of  passion  in  the  ever-new 
study  of  Camille,  she  felt  that  her  heart  was  broken 
forever.  The  effort  she  made  to  keep  from  weeping 
aloud  almost  exhausted  her.  On  her  way  home  in  the 
carriage,  she  could  not  speak  to  Van,  but  held  his  left 
hand  in  a  grasp  that  numbed  it.  She  did  not  dare  to  bid 
him  good-night  at  the  door  of  her  chamber,  but  in  the 
morning  told  him  gravely  that  she  felt  her  one  chance 
of  gaining  immortality  was  to  become  a  tragic  actress. 

In  accordance  with  this  desire,  Mrs.  Adams  took  her 
one  morning  to  the  parlors  of  a  Mrs.  Sibyl  Janes,  who 
was  then  conducting  a  series  of  classes  in  Boston.  Per- 
haps the  most  vivid  impression  of  all  Truth's  career  up  to 
this  point  was  made  by  her  hour's  conversation  with  this 


AN    EXPERIMENT    UNDER    GLASS     155 

remarkable  woman.  Born  in  some  little  Western  town, 
hardly  yet  thirty  years  old,  with  brown  hair  caught  up 
like  that  of  a  Greek  goddess,  short  of  stature,  with  step 
springing  as  a  deer's  bound,  her  thought  struck  out  with 
the  clear  keen  blast  of  practical  absoluteness.  It  swept 
clean  away  both  low-lying  theosophic  miasmas,  and  the 
glittering  cirrus  flock  of  philosophic  categories,  and 
talked  God-sense  right  out  of  the  familiar  ultimate  blue. 
With  a  graceful  little  apology  to  Mrs.  Adams,  she  led 
Truth  to  an  inner  room.  "  So  you  want  to  become  an 
actress  ?  "  she  said,  smiling.  "  It  is  my  business  to  tell 
people  how.  Determine  to  express  harmoniously  every 
faculty  of  your  being !  That  is  the  secret,  and  whether 
you  practise  it  on  the  boards  or  in  a  drawing-room,  you 
will  find  it  your  best  watchword.  Walk  down  fearlessly 
into  the  footlights  of  people's  eyes  !  Birds  always  sing 
in  tune,  and  their  wings  are  graceful  with  the  curves 
of  least  resistance.  A  drawing-room  is  the  chief  of  all 
dramatic  stages.  Each  character  can  exhibit  its  whole 
self  at  the  moment  of  entrance.  Stop  jerking !  And 
breathe  slowly  and  calmly,  as  if  you  were  taking  the 
whole  world  into  your  lungs !  When  you  have  got  it 
there,  you  can  float.  Don't  stop  to  think  what  you  are 
going  to  say !  Don't  coop  up  your  thoughts  in  your 
dressing-room ;  throw  yourself  out  with  them,  and  let 
them  fly  freely  I  Words  will  grow  on  them  like  feath- 
ers, —  then  you  can  skim  any  wave  without  touching  it. 
Now,  walk  across  the  floor  with  me  !  There  1  No  I  — 
don't  you  see  ?  You  hitch  at  the  waist,  as  if  you  wanted 
to  go  two  ways  at  once  I  Planets  don't  wobble  ;  they 
oscillate  !  Now,  come  right  across  to  me  as  if  you  were 
a  planet  I  Gli-i-i-de !  No ;  again !  Focus  on  me ! 
Think  only  that  you  would  rather  shake  my  hand  than 
do  anything  else  hi  the  world  1  Suppose  me  to  be  your 
dearest  friend,  who  has  suddenly  appeared!  Your 
grandmother,  yes  1  Come,  now  1  Straight  as  a  bee  to  a 
flower  1  There  you  are !  You  're  an  actress  already  1 
Don't  you  see,  the  only  use  of  living  is  to  fill  each 
moment  with  your  singleness  of  soul?" 


CHAPTER   XIII 


IN  the  midst  of  all  this  mental  expansion  the  seeds  of 
growth  in  mutual  regard  between  Van  and  Truth  were 
sending  forth  tiny  shoots  of  life,  far,  far  below  the  sur- 
face of  expression ;  pale  tendrils,  too  deeply  concealed,  as 
yet,  even  for  self -recognition.  It  did  not  occur  to  Truth 
to  expect  from  her  husband  constant  sympathy  in  the 
daily  round  of  studies,  still  less  in  her  private  medita- 
tions, woes,  and  ecstasies.  Sometimes,  as  they  sat  to- 
gether in  the  evening,  Van  absorbed  in  papers  which 
he  had  brought  up  from  the  office,  she  would  look  up 
shyly  from  her  text-books,  to  gaze  much  longer  than  she 
knew  upon  that  well-formed  brow,  behind  which,  she 
devoutly  believed,  were  stored  intellectual  splendors 
that  dwarfed  her  own  most  exalted  thoughts  into  feeble 
rush-lights. 

Once  she  mustered  up  courage  to  put  a  question  to 
him.  "  Do  you  feel  perfectly  sure  that  God  is  imma- 
nent in  all  of  us,  Mr.  Craighead  ? " 

Van  placed  his  fingers  between  the  pages  he  was  read- 
ing, and  looked  up  with  an  abstracted  countenance. 
Then  seeing  the  earnest,  wistful  eyes  fixed  upon  his,  he 
smiled,  and  said  kindly :  "  Is  that  what  they  fill  you  up 
with  at  Harvard  ?  It  sounds  painfully  like  gibberish  to 
me !  I  dare  say  it 's  true,  but  I  would  n't  advise  you  to 
lose  any  sleep  over  it ! " 

Among  her  few  choice  acquaintances  she  had  heard, 
more  than  once,  her  husband  referred  to  as  a  "rising 
genius,"  "the  brightest  young  lawyer  in  Boston,"  and 
her  heart  swelled  with  a  strange  pride.  Occasionally 
when  he  accompanied  her  on  social  visits,  his  intellect 
seemed  to  her  to  dominate  the  conversation.  Truth  was 


TRUTH   MAKES   A   MISTAKE        157 

by  nature  a  hero-worshipper ;  and,  as  she  learned  more 
of  life  and  people,  all  virtues  began  to  aggregate  them- 
selves about  her  conception  of  Van,  and  all  evil  to  fly 
from  it,  as  magnetic  fragments  from  a  south  pole.  What 
she  had  said  to  his  father  was  pathetically  true.  She 
thought  him  the  noblest,  wisest,  and  most  beautiful 
of  mortals,  and  his  marriage  to  her  a  crowning  act  of 
magnanimous  condescension.  She  had  long  since  sub- 
stituted for  her  own  his  judgment  concerning  the  ac- 
ceptance of  her  uncle's  fortune.  The  subject,  however, 
was  still  a  painful  one,  and  she  dwelt  upon  it  as  little  as 
possible.  Her  greatest  relief  was  in  the  reflection  that 
Craighead  had  taken  moral  as  well  as  intellectual  re- 
sponsibility upon  himself.  She  trusted  him  absolutely. 
Had  any  one  cruelly  reminded  her  of  her  outbursts  of 
anger  against  him  during  his  first  visit  to  the  Big 
House,  she  would  have  hidden  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  pleaded  youth,  ignorance,  idiocy,  —  anything  that 
could  extenuate  such  impossible  conduct.  The  old 
wild  instincts  and  impulses  seemed  dead  within  her. 
She  could  not  recognize  her  own  memories  of  her- 
self, and,  not  unnaturally,  made  the  mistake  of  think- 
ing the  change  deeper  than  it  really  was.  If,  at  this 
time,  she  had  included  novel-reading  among  her  many 
tasks  and  recreations,  she  might  have  begun  to  suspect 
the  nature  of  her  maturing  feelings.  The  poor  child 
thrilled  to  her  husband's  step  in  the  hall,  and  watched 
him  down  the  street  with  a  quivering  heart,  believing  all 
the  time  that  she  worshipped  him  afar,  impersonally,  as 
a  transfigured  Bodhisattva,  all  the  more  awe-inspiring 
from  his  very  inscrutability. 

Van  had  told  her  that  he  could  not  ask  her  to  love 
him.  She  remembered  this,  and  indeed  every  other 
detail  of  that  breathless  conversation.  She  wished  he 
would  sometimes  talk  of  himself  now.  No ;  she  would 
be  afraid  to  hear !  "  Were  I  more  romantic,  I  might 
tell  you  that  my  heart  has  been  charred ! "  What  could 
this  mean  but  that  it  had  been  burnt  in  some  hopeless 
love  ?  At  least  it  was  over  now ;  a  charred  thing  is 


158  TRUTH    DEXTER 

cold.  Even  were  this  not  so,  how  could  she  expect  love 
from  such  a  transcendent  being  ?  If  he  looked  at  her 
kindly,  and  spoke  with  a  smile,  it  was  enough. 

As  for  Van,  he  had  much  satisfaction  in  the  con- 
sciousness that  Truth  was  improving.  He  felt  that  he 
was  doing  his  full  duty.  Had  n't  he  toiled  like  a  beaver 
to  put  her  estate  into  such  a  condition  that  its  income 
would  eventually  double?  Had  he  not  settled  every 
cent  of  it  upon  her  ?  And  was  n't  he  working  manfully 
now,  that  his  profession  might  yield  him  sufficient  sup- 
port for  their  joint  existence  ?  He  was  genuinely  thank- 
ful to  her  for  the  tact  that  kept  her  from  making  herself 
a  bore.  When  the  Simpson  case  was  over  he  would 
have  more  time  to  give  her.  He  was  always  interested 
in  hearing  reports  of  progress  from  Mrs.  Adams. 

Truth  wrote  frequently  to  her  grandmother.  Not  all 
the  bewilderment  of  this  new  life  could  draw  from  her 
heart  one  memory  of  the  old  home.  Not  only  her  grand- 
parents, (she  had  not  yet  learned  to  think  of  the  place 
without  the  Colonel),  but  the  servants,  —  Uncle  Norah, 
Aunt  Big  Mary,  the  cook,  little  Nickey;  Black  Betty, 
Moses  the  Mule ;  her  dogs,  the  various  cows  each  with 
a  name  and  an  individuality,  her  tame  mocking-bird, 
which  had  never  needed  a  cage,  but,  season  after  season, 
builded  in  the  jasmine  vine  at  the  corner  of  the  gal- 
lery, and  came  to  her  lightest  whistle,  —  even  the  chick- 
ens and  guinea-fowls  were  all  remembered,  and  lovingly 
inquired  about. 

"Have  the  little  white  hyacinths  by  the  bee-house 
started  up  yet  ?  "  she  would  ask.  "  It 's  just  about  time 
for  them  to  be  waking."  Or  again,  "  How  is  Uncle 
Norah  ?  I  was  sorry  to  hear  of  his  misery  in  the  chest 
and  am  sending  by  this  same  mail  a  roll  of  plasters  and 
some  sweet  syrup,  that  will  please  him  even  if  they 
don't  make  him  well." 

But  when  she  related  Boston  experiences,  the  strange 
words  and  lengthening  sentences  impressed  and  some- 
times alarmed  the  old  lady.  "  My  darling,"  she  wrote, 
after  one  of  these,  "  my  most  fervent  prayer  is  that  you 


may  be  kept  unspotted  from  the  world.  Read  your 
Bible  as  an  antidote  to  the  Unitarians,  and  write  me 
often  of  the  services  at  beautiful  Trinity  Church.  I 
have  hung  the  photograph  of  this  sacred  edifice  in  my 
bedroom,  where  I  can  see  it  all  the  time.  All  that  you 
tell  me  of  Mr.  Craighead's  kindness  fills  me  with  grati- 
tude. In  the  arms  of  a  good  and  loving  husband  you 
will  find  your  earthly  shelter  from  the  perils  of 
life." 

As  her  shyness  wore  away  Truth  longed  more  and 
more  to  tell  Van  something  of  her  budding  ambitions. 
The  thought  of  becoming  a  tragic  actress  had  vanished 
long  ago,  but  the  days  brought  new  hopes  and  plans. 
"He  knows  so  much  more  than  Mrs.  Adams,"  she 
thought.  But  she  felt  it  an  impertinence  to  burden  his 
tremendous  issues  with  her  petty  interests.  Yet  he  did 
not  despise  women.  Mrs.  Wiley  had  said  —  what  had 
Mrs.  Wiley  said  ?  She  knew  well  enough.  It  was  al- 
ways ringing  in  her  ears.  "  Van  used  always  to  argue 
his  cases  over  with  me  before  taking  them  into  court." 
And  his  heart  had  been  charred  I  Was  this  the  fire? 
If  so —  But  she  would  not  think  further. 

She  had  begun  to  read  the  papers,  searching  eagerly 
for  any  mention  of  her  husband,  and  treasuring  in  a  se- 
cret corner  of  her  desk  all  transcripts  from  his  speeches. 
She  bought  a  book  entitled,  "  Every  Man  His  Own 
Lawyer,"  and  kept  it  concealed  with  the  newspaper 
clippings.  As  she  read,  each  dizzy  page  gave  her  a 
deeper  respect  lor  her  husband,  and  a  keener  jealousy  of 
Orchid.  There  was  no  doubt  that,  of  all  the  people  she 
met,  this  one  woman  alone  had  power  to  sting  her.  The 
most  casual  anecdote  of  Van's  former  life,  uttered  in 
those  smooth,  meaning  tones,  was  a  poisoned  lash.  She 
was  never  weary  of  hearing  Mrs.  Adams  or  Norton 
descant  upon  the  same  topic.  Reason  as  she  would,  one 
smile,  one  languid  intonation  from  this  dazzling  creature 
aroused  in  her  such  unhealthy  fascination,  such  strange 
thrills  of  pain  and  anger,  that  she  was  terrified  at  her 
own  emotions. 


160  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Mr.  Van  der  Weyde  Craighead,  advocate  and  orator, 
was  again  the  theme  of  the  Boston  papers.  The  head- 
lines of  daily  columns  shrieked  across  billiard-rooms  and 
private  boudoirs.  Newsboys  shouted  themselves  hoarse, 
and  bulletin  boards  were  decked  as  with  scarlet  banners. 
It  was  a  phenomenal  success.  For  five  months  he  had 
been  fighting  the  most  powerful  corporation  in  Massa- 
chusetts ;  he  alone,  against  a  coalition  of  Boston's  lead- 
ing financiers  and  most  astute  big-wigs.  It  was  one  of 
those  complicated  and  modern  cases  that  involve  hidden 
contradictions  in  statute  law,  niceties  of  business  prin- 
ciple, attacks  on  personal  integrity,  unearthing  of  do- 
mestic scandals,  and  counter-charges  of  perjury  and 
blackmail.  Craighead  had  become  in  the  community 
an  object  of  fear,  hate,  and  adoration  in  equal  propor- 
tions. In  his  final  summary  each  opponent's  peculiar 
weakness  had  been  delicately  extracted,  and  held  up 
quivering  on  the  point  of  his  steely  wit.  The  jury, 
conscious  of  similar  weaknesses  happily  out  of  sight, 
chuckled  with  appreciation,  and  rendered  a  quick  ver- 
dict in  enormous  damages  for  his  client.  This  the  judge 
sanctioned  with  a  heavy  seal  and  a  heavier  sigh. 

"  I  've  won  my  case !  "  said  Van  that  evening  to  Truth 
across  the  little  restaurant  table.  He  was  flushed  with 
congratulations,  and  their  inevitable  accompaniment, 
drink.  His  face,  usually  pale,  had  velvety  spots  of 
red  on  each  cheek,  and  his  cold  eyes  were  brilliant. 

Truth  gazed  upon  him  as  upon  a  god.  She  could  have 
wept  with  joy  that  he  had  condescended  to  speak  to  her, 
—  to  her  also,  at  last,  —  of  his  professional  triumphs. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad !  I  've  been  reading  all  about  it. 
Your  speeches  were  just  splendid !  " 

"  Did  you  read  them  ? "  cried  Van,  in  gratified 
surprise. 

"I  've  been  reading  everything  in  the  papers  since  it 
first  began,"  answered  Truth,  with  shy  pride. 

Van  smiled  as  he  ate  his  soup.  Truth  was  restless. 
She  must  not  let  this  golden  opportunity  slip  by  so  easily. 
She  plunged  in  again,  headlong. 


TRUTH    MAKES    A    MISTAKE        161 

"  And  I  'm  so  glad  that  it  is  all  over  at  last.  I  felt  so 
sorry  for  those  nice  gentlemen.  Now  that  horrid  man 
who  told  so  many  stories  (she  meant  lies)  will  have  to 
go  back  to  prison,  won't  he  ?  '' 

Van  stopped  short.  His  soup  might  have  frozen  in 
the  spoon. 

"Whatman?" 

"  Why,  that  wicked  —  Simpson,  was  n't  it  ?  —  who 
started  the  case  against  the  company !  " 

"  You  had  better  confine  your  reading  to  fashion  books 
and  novels  hereafter,"  he  said  angrily.  "  Simpson  was 
my  client,  and  I  made  him  win ! " 

The  dinner  was  finished  in  silence.  Truth  was  strug- 
gling with  her  tears.  "  Now  he  will  hate  me  and  despise 
me  forever,"  she  thought  in  humiliated  agony.  "  I  might 
have  known  that  I  could  not  understand.  I  can't  even 
make  out '  Every  Man  His  Own  Lawyer ' ! "  Yet  in  the 
very  midst  of  her  self-reproaches  she  was  conscious  of 
something  incredible  in  the  fact  that  Van  had  defended 
such  a  villain.  The  thought  tortured  her  with  fatal 
curiosity. 

"I  see  that  I  must  have  been  mistaken  in  thinking 
Mr.  Simpson  such  a  bad  man,"  she  ventured  to  explain, 
soon  after  reaching  their  apartments.  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don, Mr.  Craighead." 

Van  glanced  at  her  warily.  "  I  did  n't  say  he  was  not 
a  bad  man." 

"  But  you  would  not  have  taken  up  for  him  so  if  he 
had  been  really  bad, —  I  know ! " 

"  A  lawyer 's  got  to  earn  his  living.  He  can't  choose 
his  clients  any  more  than  a  doctor.  If  Simpson  was  a 
liar,  can't  you  see  that  I  've  been  doubly  successful?  " 

Truth  was  chilled.  She  refused  to  accept  the  inevi- 
table intuition,  —  it  was  too  awful ! 

"  But,"  she  still  pleaded,  leaning  forward,  her  whole 
clear,  untainted  soul  in  her  eyes,  "if  you  had  known 
for  sure  that  he  was  a  bad  man,  that  he  had  done  wrong, 
you  would  n't  have  tried  to  prove  him  in  the  right,  would 
you?" 

11 


162 

Van  did  not  answer  at  once,  nor  did  he  lift  his  eyes. 
A  curious  expression  came  into  his  face;  it  suggested 
amusement,  slight  contempt,  and  perhaps  something  a 
little  truer  and  deeper  than  these,  though  less  easily 
denned. 

Truth  was  waiting  in  agonized  suspense.  "Oh,  say 
that  you  would  n't !  "  she  breathed. 

Craighead  regarded  her  coldly  and  steadily.  He  was 
not  a  man  to  accept  criticism  of  his  methods. 

"  I  guess  that  I  should  have  done  exactly  as  I  thought 
best." 

Two  crimson  discs  sprang  into  Truth's  cheeks.  She 
felt  like  a  slapped  child. 

For  a  moment  there  was  uncomfortable  silence ;  then 
Craighead  walked  over  to  a  window  and,  looking  down 
into  the  light-starred  street,  said  carelessly,  — 

"  I  Ve  half  promised  to  make  some  calls  this  evening. 
I  presume  you  would  not  care  to  go  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Truth  in  a  choked  voice,  "  I  could  n't 

go-" 

He  went  without  saying  good-bye,  and  as  the  door 
slammed  behind  him  she  cast  herself  prone  upon  the 
bed. 

"Oh,  I  was  a  fool,  —  a  fool!"  she  sobbed.  "What 
right  have  I  to  blame  him  ?  I  'm  not  old  enough  to 
understand  1  I  'm  not  fit  to  be  his  wife  1  And  now  he 's 

§one  away  —  to  Tier.     She  will  know  just  what  to  say. 
he  won't  make  mistakes.     Oh,  I  wish  I  was  dead  1     I 
wish  I  was  back  home  I " 

Meanwhile  Van,  without  any  very  clear  idea  of  a  des- 
tination, was  making  his  way  down  Boylston  Street.  The 
cool  night  air  revived  him,  the  sharp  wind  drove  from  his 
brain  the  hovering  mists  of  wine  and  flattery.  Truth's 
words  had  been  a  discordant  blast,  harsh  as  a  cry  of  fire 
against  seductive  music.  He  frowned  away  the  ghosts 
she  had  evoked. 

That  afternoon,  in  the  very  thick  of  the  court-room 
congratulations,  a  scented  blue  note  had  been  slipped 
into  his  hand.  When  he  looked  around,  the  messenger 


TRUTH    MAKES    A    MISTAKE        163 

had  vanished.  He  had  no  need  to  open  the  missive,  he 
knew  the  contents  already.  "Will  my  old  friend  refuse 
to  let  me  offer  the  warmest  congratulations  that  the 
whole  world  affords  ?  I  shall  be  at  home  this  evening 
after  eight."  At  the  time  he  had  thrust  it  hastily  into 
a  pocket.  He  lifted  his  hand  to  his  waistcoat.  Yes,  it 
was  still  there !  He  had  been  too  late  to  dress  for 
dinner. 

It  was  Thursday  evening,  that  evening  of  each  week 
that  had  once  belonged  to  him  alone.  And  she  was 
waiting  1  Unconsciously  his  vigorous  steps  slackened 
into  something  like  indecision.  He  could  almost  see 
her  in  that  Oriental  boudoir,  moving  about  in  the  sinuous 
witchery  of  trailing  gold  and  sea-green  gauze,  peering 
into  one  of  a  dozen  brass-bound  mirrors  to  catch  back 
an  escaping  flame  of  her  riotous  hair,  throwing  herself 
with  carefully  studied  carelessness  upon  the  pillow- 
heaped  divans,  that  one  dainty  foot  might  learn  to 
escape  from  the  encrusted  drapery,  then  leaning  forward, 
alert,  eager,  for  the  fancied  whir  of  the  electric  door-bell. 
He  turned,  still  slowly,  into  a  narrow  street  running  to 
the  left. 

At  the  corner  of  Commonwealth  Avenue  another  figure 
collided  with  him.  It  was  Norton. 

"  Why,  Van !  Whither  bound  ?  Just  rushing  up  to 
your  house,  —  the  boys  sent  me.  Have  you  forgotten 
election  to-night  at  the  St.  Botolph  ?  We  are  thinking 
of  putting  you  up  for  president.  How's  that  for  the 
firm  of  Craighead  and  Norton  ?  " 

His  arm  was  already  through  that  of  his  senior  partner. 
Van  gave  a  grim  smile. 

"  I  was  just  on  the  way,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MIGRATORY    BIPEDS 

FASHIONABLE  Boston  had  long  been  emptying  itself 
from  Beacon  Street  tombs  and  apartment  house  cells. 
Like  over-fed  or  over-trained  fowls,  with  wings  half 
atrophied  from  disuse,  the  freed  occupants  napped  feebly 
up  and  down  sea-beaches  and  along  mountain  slopes, 
pleased  with  the  thought  that  they  could  so  easily  be- 
come children  of  nature.  Viewed  by  the  eye  of  Nature 
herself,  however,  it  was  a  sorry  throng  that  Dame  Fash- 
ion had  sent  back  for  repairs.  How  the  real  birds  must 
laugh  to  see  these  self-satisfied  abnormalities  on  the  long 
hotel  verandas,  strutting  and  pecking  at  one  another, 
shaking  out  their  gilded  feathers,  and  sometimes,  though 
rarely,  making  a  pathetic  effort  to  rise  from  the  ground ! 
Old  hens,  with  silly  chicks  at  heel,  pecked  other  hens  for 
a  choice  grain  of  social  preferment,  while  male  members 
of  the  brood,  standing  warily  apart,  dodged  pecks  in 
turn,  and  frankly  longed  for  the  familiar  office-perches 
in  Devonshire  or  Milk  Street. 

All  the  schools  and  lecture-rooms  in  Boston  were 
closed.  What  use  has  the  stay-at-home  fowl  for  the  eti- 
quette of  poultry  shows?  Truth,  being  for  the  present 
one  of  the  humbler  variety  in  that  she  could  not  be  per- 
suaded to  leave,  bitterly  regretted  the  cessation  of  her 
classes.  For  Boston  was  entering  on  its  summer  nap. 
A  hush,  broken  only  by  the  fitful,  sleepy  click  of  a  Back 
Bay  horse-car,  crept  like  invisible  weeds  and  mosses  over 
the  Romanesque  temples  of  the  deserted  city.  The 
heated  streets  turned  to  dusty  steam  the  well-meant 
spatterings  of  water-carts ;  and  the  few  remaining  deni- 


MIGRATORY    BIPEDS  165 

zens  seemed  glad  to  share  the  tropic  listlessness  of  the 
season. 

But  Truth  was  not  listless.  A  feverish  energy,  a 
baulked  ambition,  urged  her  toward  deeper  and  more 
comprehensive  study.  It  was  no  longer  the  pure  joy 
of  spontaneous  development,  but  rather  the  unhealthy 
pangs  of  Macedonian  world-hunger,  that  seemed  to  chal- 
lenge her  into  an  attempt  to  master  the  vague  Oriental 
secrets  of  life  and  knowledge. 

Driven  from  Radcliffe  and  the  School  of  Expression, 
she  explored  for  reading  materials  among  the  yellow 
onyxes  and  the  kaleidoscopic  Parsifals  of  the  Public 
Library.  At  night,  by  the  unsteady  incandescence  of 
the  economized  electric  lights,  she  devoured  the  liter- 
ary spoils  she  had  been  able  to  extort  from  the  languid 
delivery  clerks.  Some  of  these  were  novels,  —  her  first 
novels,  —  mostly  unobnoxious  ones  of  Italian  scene, 
Hawthorne's  Marble  Faun,  and  something  of  Marion 
Crawford.  But  novels,  history,  science,  philosophy, — 
Fichte's  absolute  Ego,  or  the  toy-balloon  Ego  of  Amiel, 
—  it  was  all  one  to  her;  just  as  every  nodding  forest 
mystery  is  eloquent  to  the  strained  faculties  of  its  first 
prisoner.  So  did  this  dauntless  little  Ponce  de  Le"on 
stagger  through  tropic  bewilderments  of  poetry  and  ro- 
mance, and  bottomless  bogs  of  specious  metaphysics  to 
some  fount,  hidden  deep  in  her  blind  faith,  of  the  soul's 
eternal  youth. 

After  a  few  weeks  Van,  engrossed  though  he  was  in 
his  own  studies,  was  forced  to  notice  and  comment  upon 
her  deepening  pallor,  and  insisted  upon  a  month  at  one 
of  the  comfortable  seaside  hotels  of  Swampscott  or 
Nahant.  Truth  feared  the  latter  peninsular  resort,  hav- 
ing heard  it  spoken  of  by  epicures  as  "Cold  Roast 
Boston ; "  and  even  the  name  "  Marblehead  "  had  a  for- 
bidding, Palladian,  pseudo-classic  ring.  It  was  in  vain 
that  Van  promised  to  come  down  and  join  her  over  Sun- 
days. The  excuse  she  gave  was  that  she  could  not 
leave  the  Library  and  the  Art  Museum.  She  was  exca- 
vating something,  she  knew  not  what,  among  deposits 


166  TRUTH    DEXTER 

of  Greek  craterse  and  amphorae,  mysterious  fragments  of 
gigantic  Hathors,  and  imperial  hierophants  in  purple 
syenite. 

Mrs.  Adams,  who  had  remained  in  the  city  for  reasons 
of  her  own,  noticed  the  insidious  change  in  the  young 
wife's  appearance,  and,  though  asking  no  questions,  un- 
derstood well  that  the  madness  of  intellectual  acquisi- 
tion had  seized  another  victim,  and  would  soon  drag  her 
down  to  mental  suicide,  where  the  soul,  stricken  and 
fascinated,  gazes,  helpless,  into  the  whirling  vortex  of 
other  men's  thoughts.  One  evening  she  deliberately 
planned  a  call  that  would  make  her  seem  to  happen  in 
upon  the  Craigheads  at  the  relaxation  of  dinner.  She 
came  in  panting,  declaring  that  Hamlet's  wish,  about  to 
be  realized  in  her  own  flesh,  was  by  no  means  provoca- 
tive of  the  relief  apparently  foreseen  by  that  all  too  solid 
Dane.  The  faces  of  the  young  people,  who  were  almost 
alone  in  the  oppressively  large  hall,  brightened  with  un- 
accustomed pleasure,  and  Van  sprang  up  to  place  an  ex- 
tra chair.  Accepting  the  refreshment  of  an  Apollinaris 
lemonade,  the  visitor  plunged  into  it,  and  her  subject 
together. 

"  Van,  up  to  your  ears  as  usual?  " 

Mr.  Craighead  smiled  professionally,  yet  affably.  "  I 
believe  that  just  about  expresses  it." 

"I  thought  so.  See  what  comes  of  making  smart 
speeches !  And  you  could  n't  leave  town  even  for  a  few 
weeks  ?  " 

"Certainly  not!  I'm  disgusted  with  speeches,  and 
I  'm  working  out  into  a  new  line.  The  Judge  knows  —  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  what  the  Judge  knows !  I  only 
wanted  to  find  out  what  you  are  going  to  do  with  this 
poor  tired  child."  She  laid  her  hand  affectionately  on 
Truth's  arm. 

Van's  tone  changed  perceptibly.  "  I  've  been  trying 
for  weeks  to  get  her  to  run  off  somewhere." 

"  And  she  does  n't  dare  to  brave  the  Yankee  summer- 
resort  without  you?  Ah,  I  understand."  Mrs.  Adams 
nodded  sagely. 


MIGRATORY    BIPEDS  167 

"She  says  she  can't  leave  Boston  because  of  her 
studies.  But  I  see  plainly  that  she  is  not  going  to  be 
able  to  stand  the  whole  summer  here." 

"  Stand  it?  Of  course  she  can't !  Look  at  those  pale 
cheeks  and  hollow  eyes !  " 

Truth  flushed.  "  I  'm  nearly  always  pale,"  she  remon- 
strated, "even  at  home." 

"  That  may  be ;  but  people  in  the  North  should  have 
red  cheeks.  You  're  reading  too  much.  Reading  is  n't 
half  as  good  as  seeing.  Now  what  do  you  say  to  going 
abroad  with  me  next  week  ?  I  've  got  a  cabin  !  " 

"What!  Do  you  really  mean  it?"  cried  Van,  the 
smile  on  his  face  deepening  with  genuine  gratitude. 
"  Well,  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  !  There  could  n't 
be  a  better  solution,  —  that  is,  if  Truth  is  willing  to 

go-" 

But  Truth  was  silent,  staring  into  vacancy. 

"  Abroad !  "  she  whispered  after  a  moment.  "  Abroad ! 
Do  you  mean  to  Europe  ?  to  England  and  Italy  ?  " 

"Yes,  of  course,  anywhere  1  We'll  just  take  a  run 
over  to  Paris  first  —  " 

"  Paris ! "  gasped  the  girl.  Mrs.  Adams  spoke  of 
Paris  as  if  it  were  just  down  the  harbor,  accessible  as 
Nantasket  Beach. 

"  Yes,  Paris  !  And  if  it 's  not  too  warm  we  '11  go  on 
to  Vienna,  and  down  into  Italy.  How  would  you  like  a 
little  of  Switzerland  and  Mont  Blanc  by  the  way  ?  " 

Truth's  eyes  were  a  sibyl's,  dilating  with  a  thousand 
instantaneous  prophecies.  She  had  dreamed  of  moun- 
tains, real  mountains,  all  her  life,  without  realizing 
clearly  that  they  were  indeed  a  part  of  the  big  old 
earth  on  which  she  lived.  They,  together  with  Europe 
and  the  ancient  cities,  seemed  to  belong  to  a  world  of 
distant  romance.  Suddenly  she  covered  her  eyes  with 
her  handkerchief,  as  if  to  hide  some  ecstasy  of  inner 
vision. 

Mrs.  Adams  was  chuckling  with  satisfaction  at  the 
effect  of  her  words. 

"Well,  young  lady,  what  shall  we  say?     Only  this 


168  TRUTH    DEXTER 

morning  I  got  the  offer  of  a  stateroom  from  a  friend 
who  is  delayed  until  next  boat,  and  I  must  decide  at 
once.  Will  you  go  ?  " 

Without  answering,  Truth  unveiled  her  eyes  and  gazed 
into  her  husband's  face  with  a  sort  of  dazed  appeal.  It 
was  the  Jeanne  d'Arc  again !  What  did  it  see  ? 

"  Go,  by  all  means !  "  he  smiled.  He  felt  distinct  sat- 
isfaction that  she  had  thus  appealed  to  him,  even  though 
her  soul  were  winged  with  unuttered  prayers. 

She  looked  at  him  long,  and  then  at  Mrs.  Adams.  "  I 
can't  believe  it  I  "  she  said.  "  I  don't  know  who  I  am. 
Paris  and  Venice !  They  seem  as  far  away  as  the  sun 
and  the  planets.  Doesn't  it  take  a  very  long  time  to 
go?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  You  hardly  realize  you  're  started  before 
you  're  there.  One  does  n't  even  have  time  on  board 
to  write  letters  for  the  return  trip.  I've  been  over 
dozens  of  times.  Many  of  my  friends  do  their  spring 
shopping  in  Paris." 

Truth  gasped  again.  This  disregard  of  time  and 
space  seemed  almost  blasphemous.  Then,  turning  to 
Van,  she  said,  "  I  will  decide  to  go  then,  if  you  are 
sure  you  don't  mind." 

When  the  energetic  chaperone  had  departed,  and  the 
two  young  people  were  alone  in  their  pretty  rooms, 
Truth  made  yet  one  more  appeal.  She  went  up  to 
him,  and  put  her  hand  —  which  shook  a  little  —  on 
his  coat-sleeve.  "You  are  sure  you  don't  mind  my 
going,  in  the  very  least?"  she  asked,  with  bewitch- 
ing and  almost  tearful  timidity. 

"  Not  in  the  very  least ! "  he  answered.  "  It  will  do 
you  all  the  good  in  the  world." 

His  words  were  encouraging,  but  they  did  not  make 
Truth  altogether  happy.  "  I  need  not  have  asked,"  she 
thought  bitterly.  "  Of  course  he  will  not  miss  me  !  " 

Now  that  she  was  committed  to  the  voyage,  a  hundred 
doubts  and  fears  assailed  her.  Would  not  her  grand- 
mother oppose  the  long  and  perilous  journey?  Suppose 
the  old  lady  should  fall  ill  again.  Then,  was  it  right  for 


MIGRATORY    BIPEDS  169 

her  to  start  off  in  this  way  and  leave  Van,  even  though 
he  urged  it?  Suppose,  too,  that  he  should  fall  sick !  It 
was  hard  to  leave  him,  or  rather  to  think  of  leaving  him. 
How  many  weeks  might  she  be  away  ?  He  had  shut 
her  off  from  his  intellectual  work,  but  she  felt  the 
same  keen  interest  in  all  that  she  could  learn  of  him 
from  newspapers  and  the  conversation  of  friends.  The 
memory  of  the  Simpson  case  rankled.  This  had  never 
entirely  left  her.  It  stung,  at  times,  like  an  old  burn, 
and  all  her  childish  faith  and  womanly  ingenuity  were 
needed  to  convince  and  re-convince  her  that  Van  was 
blameless.  Hers  was  a  nature  that  could  not  afford  to 
doubt.  She  could  bear  not  to  be  loved,  but  it  was  a 
necessity  to  her  to  love,  and  to  idealize.  Little  by 
little,  through  these  past  bewildering  weeks  in  Boston, 
her  husband's  dark,  cold  face  had  grown  to  be  the  cen- 
tral reality  of  her  life,  the  rock  where  all  vines  clung, 
against  which  all  flowers  blossomed.  His  reserve  only 
added  to  his  charm. 

"  Of  course  he  will  not  miss  me,"  she  had  said  to  her- 
self humbly  enough.  But  lurking  in  the  background  of 
her  thoughts  was  a  motive,  by  no  means  so  humble. 

She  was  to  sail  in  a  week.  One  morning  Truth  hur- 
ried at  an  unfashionably  early  hour  to  her  friend,  Mrs. 
Adams,  bent  ostensibly  on  some  trivial  errand  incident 
to  preparations  for  the  voyage,  but  in  reality  to  ask  a 
question  which  had  tormented  her  most  of  the  previous 
night. 

She  found  the  worthy  matron  in  an  upper  chamber 
entirely  surrounded  by  an  angular  sea  of  pasteboard 
boxes. 

"Come  in! — No,  you  can't.  Wait  until  I  make  a 
passage  through  the  debris !  —  There  I  —  See,  I  am  actu- 
ally buying  a  ready-made  gown !  Think  of  it !  Never 
did  such  a  thing  in  my  life  before  —  but  the  dress- 
makers are  all  off  summering  with  their  ill-gotten 
gains." 

"I  just  ran  in  a  minute  to  ask  what  I  ought  to  wear," 


170  TRUTH    DEXTER 

explained  the  visitor.     "  I  have  n't  many  things,  you 
know.     Of  course  it  must  be  black  I " 

"  No,  you  sha'n't  cling  to  that  saturnine  and  antedilu- 
vian color  longer,  child  I  "  Truth  winced.  "  However, 
we  need  n't  discuss  that  now.  Wear  anything  that  will 
cover  you  decently  until  we  get  to  Paris,  and  then  — 
the  lady  paused  and  winked  —  "  it  will  be  time  enough 
to  see  what  we  shall  see  !  " 

"I  —  I  wanted  to  ask  you  one  other  question,  Mrs. 
Adams."  Truth  fixed  her  clear  eyes  upon  the  elder 
woman.  There  was  a  hint  of  distressed  shrinking  in  her 
gaze  that  Mrs.  Adams  knew  well.  "  Please  don't  laugh 
at  me." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall,  child,"  cried  the  lady.  "  What  is  it 
now,  —  whether  decent  women  ever  talk  about  corsets,  or 
whether  belief  in  reincarnation  renders  one  an  infidel  ?  " 

"  Not  those  —  again !  "  said  Truth,  confused  and  blush- 
ing. "  I  only  wanted  to  know  if  married  people  —  up 
North  here  —  go  to  see  each  other." 

"  Do  married  people  go  to  see  each  other !  What  do 
you  mean  ?  Certainly  they  do.  You  can't  think  that  all 
social  functions  are  confined  to  babes  and  celibates  ! " 

"  That  is  n't  it  —  I  mean  —  do  —  do  married  men  ever 
go  to  see  —  young  married  ladies  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  Oh,"  cried  Mrs.  Adams,  in  a  long  breath, 
"  that 's  a  horse  of  a  different  color  ! " 

"  Whom  is  the  poor  child  afraid  of  ?  "  darted  through 
her  fertile  mind.  "  I  have  it !  It 's  that  red-headed 
Wiley  woman." 

She  paused  in  order  to  arrange  her  words  in  some 
relation  to  veracity,  and  at  the  same  time  make  them 
reassuring. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  what  a  queer  question  !  Of  course 
some  people  may,  but  there  are  others  that  disappove. 
You  can't  possibly  lay  down  any  rule.  It's  harmless 
enough,  I  dare  say." 

But  Truth  was  not  comforted.  "  I  don't  think  it 's 
right ! "  she  protested.  "  I  don't  believe  people  do  it 
down  home." 


MIGRATORY    BIPEDS  171 

The  day  of  departure  arrived.  They  were  to  sail  di- 
rectly from  Boston  by  the  "  Cephalonia  "  of  the  Cumird 
line.  Mrs.  Adams  and  the  Judge  were  to  meet  Truth 
and  Craighead  on  board.  Norton  had  already  sent  an 
exquisite  box  of  flowers,  and  endless  packages  of  Iluyler's 
sweetmeats.  Van  had  been  most  energetic,  giving  direc- 
tions to  bell-boys,  sending  for  extra  wraps  and  rugs,  and 
so  engrossing  himself  with  every  minute  detail  of  depar- 
ture, that  poor  Truth's  heart  was  fairly  bursting  with 
admiration  and  gratitude.  Yet  in  many  ways  it  was  a 
poignant  reminder  of  those  unspeakable  days  of  Dex- 
terville  when,  in  a  similar  way,  he  had  assumed  the 
executive. 

Now  that  the  hour  of  departure  was  really  here,  it 
seemed  to  Truth  a  crisis  in  her  life  hardly  less  acute  than 
the  morning  of  her  marriage.  She  found  herself  wishing 
for  the  old  red  rooster.  The  longing  for  a  parting  em- 
brace from  Mrs.  Dexter  was  too  intense  to  bear  even  the 
weight  of  conscious  thought. 

Van  and  Truth  had  made  a  pretence  of  eating  breakfast 
together,  but  the  girl  had  not  swallowed  a  mouthful. 
When  the  trunks  had  gone,  a  dreadful  silence  fell  upon 
the  little  apartment.  Truth  went  into  her  bed-chamber. 
The  neat  emptiness  smote  her  with  a  chill.  She  closed 
the  door  softly,  and  knelt  by  the  dismantled  bed  to  pray ; 
but  she  had  lost  the  power  of  forming  new  petitions,  and 
could  only  say  over  and  over  again  the  inconsequent 
rhymed  prayers  of  her  childhood.  They  conveyed  little 
or  no  meaning,  but  the  very  repetition  soothed  her.  She 
rose,  and  passed  into  Van's  room.  There  were  his  clothes 
hanging  in  the  open  closet,  his  slippers  waiting  cosily  by 
the  big  chair,  and  a  book  on  International  Law  turned 
down  at  an  open  page  upon  the  table.  Truth  choked 
back  a  sob.  Whether  she  were  near  or  far,  alive  or  dead, 
he  would  live  on  as  usual.  She  was  but  an  incident  in 
his  existence. 

Van,  at  this  moment,  was  pacing  restlessly  up  and 
down  the  drawing-room.  Every  few  moments  he  went 
to  the  front  window  to  peer  down  expectantly  for  the 


172  TRUTH    DEXTER 

carriage.  He  felt  nervous,  ruffled,  and  a  little  irritated, 
as  most  men  do  when  their  routine  is  broken.  Truth 
came  in  noiselessly,  her  left  hand  pressed  against  her 
heart,  her  face  like  wax.  She  felt  as  if  death  had 
already  seized  her.  Her  lips  moved,  and  Van  bent  to 
listen. 

"  If  grandma  gets  very  sick  —  will  you  go  to  her  — 
for  a  little  while?" 

"  Indeed  I  will,  at  once.  Don't  worry  about  that  an 
instant !  "  She  put  out  one  hand  toward  him ;  he  took 
it  in  both  his  own.  The  action  reminded  her  that  she 
had  forgotten  her  gloves. 

"  My  gloves ! "  she  cried,  glancing  restlessly  about. 
"  Where  are  my  gloves  ?  I  left  them  here.  It 's  time 
to  put  them  on." 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Van,  briskly,  picking  them  up 
from  under  her  very  nose. 

She  was  trembling,  so  that  she  had  to  lean  up  against 
the  table.  He  came  nearer,  and  put  his  arm  around 
her. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  dear  ?     Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  No  1  —  no  !  It 's  only  —  leaving  you  —  and  grand- 
ma !" 

"  Poor  little  girl ! "  If  she  had  dared  to  look  up,  she 
would  have  seen  his  face  soften  with  unaccustomed 
tenderness. 

"  You  were  so  good  to  us  — before  —  down  South !  " 
she  choked  out.  "  I  don't  think  I  've  ever  done  any- 
thing to  show  you — how  I  thanked  you.  And  you  've 
been  good  to  me  here,  too.  I've  tried  —  I've  tried  — 
not  to  be  any  trouble  to  you."  Her  speech  faded  off 
into  a  strained  whisper. 

"  Trouble !  "  cried  Van,  touched  at  her  distress.  "  You 
dear  little  girl !  Do  you  think  you  ever  could  have  been 
any  trouble  to  me  ?  You  have  been  nothing  but  a  bless- 
ing and  an  advantage.  It  is  I  who  have  n't  done  half 
enough." 

"  No !  no !  "  sobbed  the  girl,  fairly  clinging  to  him, 
"  You  must  not  say  that  1  You  are  the  finest  man  in 


MIGRATORY    BIPEDS  173 

the  whole  world.     It  is  I  who  owe  you  everything  — 
everything." 

"  Now  look  here,  Truth ! "  said  Van  in  a  firmer  voice, 
"  don't  go  off  with  any  such  absurd  idea !  You  are  a 
great  heiress,  and  a  beauty  besides.  Everybody  thinks 
me  a  lucky  man  to  have  won  you.  All  the  property  is 
yours,  and  I  am  only  a  poor,  hard-working  husband  —  " 

"  No  !  no  1  You  can't  say  that !  You  must  n't  say 
that  I  It 's  all  yours.  You  know  it.  I  never  wanted 
it,  and  I  don't  want  it  now.  It 's  yours.  Oh,  please, 
please  don't  say  it  is  mine  again! " 

Craighead  was  astonished  at  her  vehemence.  She 
clung  to  him  desperately.  Her  sobs  were  growing 
hysterical.  She  was  conscious  of  this,  and  wished  to 
control  herself,  but  thought  that,  if  she  stopped,  his 
arms  might  unloose  themselves.  It  was  such  a  new, 
such  a  wonderful  thing  to  feel  her  own  husband's  arms 
around  her. 

"  Hush  !  little  one !  "  he  said.  "  Don't  sob  so !  Listen ! 
I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

She  stifled  her  sobs  to  long,  irregular  shudders.  Van 
did  not  loose  his  arms. 

"  Truth  !  "  —  his  voice  was  very  gentle,  —  "  you 
must  n't  think  so  humbly  of  yourself.  I  don't  want  you 
to.  You  are  a  great  heiress,  and,  what  is  better,  a  good, 
true,  sweet  woman.  Mrs  Adams  considers  your  mind  a 
most  extraordinary  one.  Do  you  remember  I  told  your 
grandpa  that  you  ought  to  have  a  European  tour  ?  You 
see  by  her  letters  that  your  grandma  delights  in  this 
opportunity  for  you.  And  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  expect 
of  you,  Truth.  That  you  learn  on  this  trip  what  shall 
go  far  toward  making  you  my  intellectual  equal.  Re- 
member, I  have  never  been  abroad.  So,  if  one  of  us  is 
to  be  humble,  it  should  be  I." 

Van  humble  1  this  demigod  !     "  No,"  she  cried  once 
more,    "you   are   only   trying  to   cheer  me   up.     You 
can't  mean  it.     Of  course  I  'm  going  to  try  to  learn  all 
I  can,  because  you  expect  it ;  but  I  had  rather  stay  - 
here.     Even  if  it  was  as  you  say,  I  don't  care  anything 


TO  TRUTH   DEXTER 

about  it,  —  only  —  only  about  —  you !  "  She  gasped, 
and  hid  her  face  against  his  shoulder. 

A  knock  sounded  on  the  door.  The  carriage  had 
come. 

"  Well,  my  little  girl,  it  is  time  to  start." 

The  concentration  of  all  yearning  seemed  focussed  in 
Truth's  soul.  She  could  not  speak.  Van  tightened  his 
arms  around  her. 

"  Kiss  me  good-bye,  Truth ! " 

Truth  shivered.  The  room  began  to  spin,  and  there 
were  traces  of  fire  in  the  whirl.  She  shut  her  eyes  and 
lifted  her  face  to  his  slowly,  —  very,  very  slowly.  No 
martyr  waiting  for  the  sabre  stroke  could  have  felt  more 
exquisite  agony ;  yet  the  martyrdom  was  of  bliss,  not 
death. 

As  his  lips  met  hers,  she  shivered  again,  then  stood 
quite  still. 

He  kissed  her  tenderly,  compassionately,  with  a  man's 
wonder  and  subtle  vanity  at  her  deep  emotion. 

She  received  it  as  a  benediction,  a  consecration,  a 
crown,  a  brand.  Into  its  white  fire  she  offered  up  her 
girlhood.  In  its  hushed  ecstasy  and  pride  her  dower  of 
womanhood  stood  revealed. 


CHAPTER  XV 

BAITED   WITH  A  LIVE   LORD 

THAT  evening  Craighead  sat  alone  in  his  library,  for  the 
airy  apartment  was  cooler  than  his  little  stuffy  office. 
His  book  lay  open  upon  his  knee,  but  his  eyes  seemed  to 
pierce  far  through  the  carbon  photograph  of  the  Sistine 
Madonna  that  hung  on  his  eastern  wall.  In  fact  his 
was  a  strange  condition  of  vague  excitement.  He  was 
annoyed  at  his  inability  to  focus  attention  upon  abstrac- 
tions, though  the  visions  of  Truth  that  would  insist  on 
usurping  the  foreground  of  his  thought  were  pleasant. 

Poor  child  I  She  had  really  gone.  The  girlish  face 
with  its  big  earnest  eyes  would  greet  him  no  more,  day 
by  day,  from  the  little  restaurant  table.  If  he  were  but 
living  in  his  former  Chestnut  Street  boarding-house  he 
might  understand  it  better,  and  that  his  marriage  was, 
after  all,  a  dream.  But  this  French  Renaissance  gor- 
geousness  had  little  congruity  with  confirmed  bachelor 
instincts,  and  emphasized  the  loss  of  a  dainty  presiding 
genius.  Things  were  really  quite  odd  without  her. 
There  had  been  something  sweet  and  sisterly  in  the 
bent,  blond  head  by  the  window,  poring  over  its  cher- 
ished text-books  far  into  the  twilight,  a  homely  cheer  in 
the  bright  face  that  welcomed  him  on  his  return  from 
business,  a  personal  attachment  knit  into  the  tissue  of 
mutual  interests  succeeding  marriage. 

And  how  she  had  clung  to  him  at  parting  !  She  had 
stood  very  still  under  his  farewell  kiss.  The  smell  of 
sunlit  pine-trees  was  in  her  hair  as  he  had  leaned  over 
her ;  her  lips  were  soft  and  fragrant  as  a  spring  leaf. 
He  could  feel  them  yet  1  Pshaw  1  She  was  but  a 
child,  more  ignorant  of  life  than  any  little  Boston  miss 
of  twelve.  She  would  be  a  glorious  woman  at  twenty- 


176  TRUTH    DEXTER 

five.  But  then  he  would  be  forty ;  too  old  for  a  hero, 
alas  !  It  must  go  on  as  it  had  begun. 

There  is  no  man  so  self-centred  but  has  at  some  time 
his  little  dream  of  wedded  happiness.  It  was  not  thus 
that  Craighead  had  forecast  it,  this  mockery  of  marriage, 
this  mere  pleasant  duty  of  domestic  proximity.  Neither 
had  he  desired,  for  alternative,  a  wild  defiance  of  society's 
mandates,  a  Sicilian  outlawry  of  romantic  passion. 
Strange  that  his  fate  should  be  cast  between  two  such 
abortive  extremes !  Orchid  and  Truth !  Siren  and  sister! 
The  evanescent  mockery  of  the  flame  itself,  and  of  its 
shadow !  In  either  case  he  was  foredoomed  to  the  ab- 
normal, the  non-human,  the  barrenness  of  a  desert  from 
which  he  would  emerge.  But  work,  —  that  at  least  lay 
before  him,  —  fame,  power,  wealth,  —  all  but  love.  And 
how  few  men,  after  all,  ever  know  but  a  mocking  sip  of 
life's  best  wine  1 

Such  disturbing  reveries  were  swallowed  up,  by  the 
second  night,  in  a  complete  reassertion  of  the  lawyer's 
practical  ambitions.  Even  a  lone,  lorn  man  is  a  mighty, 
self-consistent  force,  a  bristling  battleship  of  floating 
energies.  Ever  since  Craighead's  first  glimpse  of  the 
dome  at  Washington,  the  roseate  bubble  of  political  pre- 
ferment had  hung  vaguely  against  the  gray  spaces  of  his 
fancy.  On  his  return  from  the  South,  a  sobered  and  a 
married  man,  with  the  management  of  a  vast  estate  open- 
ing vistas  of  new  possibilities  before  him,  the  winged  seed 
had  rooted  itself  in  the  soil  of  a  definite  plan. 

Later,  the  very  success  of  his  Simpson  case  had  dis- 
gusted him  with  the  cramp  of  those  crooked  alleys  in 
which  the  mere  corporation  lawyer  must  writhe  and  turn. 
Truth's  pure  eyes,  and  her  voice,  as  she  pleaded,  "  But 
if  you  had  known  for  sure  that  he  was  a  bad  man," 
would  not  leave  him.  His  powers,  his  mental  scope,  his 
logical  habits,  his  personal  keenness,  his  overmastering 
eloquence,  all  pointed  to  a  nobler  and  more  famous 
career. 

He  had  always  been  an  eager  reader  of  cabled  news, 
and  a  student  of  European  politics.  In  his  law-school 


BAITED    WITH   A   LIVE    LORD      177 

days,  he  had  been  mighty  in  debates  that  dealt  with 
world-issues.  He  deplored  the  ignorance  of  American 
legislators  and  diplomats.  As  treated  here,  the  whole 
subject  of  international  relations  seemed  to  him  de- 
vised for  the  sole  purpose  of  establishing  a  few  college 
professorships. 

Yet  law,  once  mastered,  was  less  an  ultimate  definition 
than  a  tool  for  real  men  to  wield.  The  stability  of  exist- 
ing arrangements  was  an  editorial  illusion ;  the  future  a 
game  that  a  few  astute  European  statesmen  were  play- 
ing, with  law  for  club-rules.  We,  too,  had  in  Revolu- 
tionary days  sent  statesmen  to  Europe.  But  with  our 
present  motley  array  of  pork  and  caucus  packers, "  world- 
imagination  "  might  well  be  declared  dead.  He,  Craig- 
head,  felt  himself  able  to  master  the  ignored  conditions, 
to  pierce  to  the  possibilities,  to  marshal  the  persuasions, 
to  compel  the  future.  He  would  put  his  finger  upon 
the  weak  places  in  the  imagined  balances  of  power, 
recast  the  theory  of  economic  and  of  military  expansions, 
anticipate  the  inevitable  current  of  human  greed,  and 
gather  up  into  single-handed  thought  the  reins  of  racial 
destinies. 

There  was  money  in  it,  too.  The  leading  world-issues 
have  been,  after  all,  and  must  ever  remain,  commercial. 
Our  Pacific  coast  faced  an  awakening  East.  Hawaii,  even 
now,  was  rising  into  prominence  as  a  stepping-stone. 
Some  of  Van's  Boston  clients  had  already  banded  to  in- 
vest large  amounts  in  Japan,  as  soon  as  the  new  treaties 
should  have  come  into  operation.  The  exploitation  of 
China's  fabulous  wealth  claimed  the  ambition  of  rival 
syndicates.  The  very  world-flows  of  cotton,  oil,  wheat, 
coal,  and  gold  were  changing,  like  the  shifting  of  ocean 
currents  over  submerged  coasts.  Once  North  Africa  had 
been  the  granary  of  the  Roman  Empire.  The  Man- 
chesters  and  Pittsburgs  of  the  future  might  well  be 
planted  along  the  banks  of  the  Yangtse. 

A  week  had  passed.  A  cable  from  Liverpool  assured 
the  deserted  husband  that  all  was  well  with  the  travel- 

12 


178  TRUTH    DEXTER 

lers.  In  another  week  a  letter  from  Truth  arrived. 
Van  threw  down  his  volume  of  Captain  Mahan's  "  Sea 
Power"  to  smile  at  the  stiffly  written  address.  He 
smiled  again  as  he  read  the  contents,  dated  from  ship- 
board on  the  very  day  of  landing. 

"  MY  DEAR  MR.  CRAIGHEAD  "  [it  began],  —  "  I  hope  you  will 
excuse  me  for  not  writing  sooner.  I  have  not  been  feeling  very 
well.  The  ship  is  going  a  little  slower  now,  though ;  and  I  am  up 
on  deck  in  a  big  chair  with  my  writing-pad  on  my  lap.  It  is  very 
beautiful  here.  We  can  see  pale  blue  lumps  out  on  the  edge  of  the 
water,  and  Mrs.  Adams  says  they  are  hills  on  the  coast  of  Ireland. 
I  can't  believe  it.  I  keep  always  looking  for  countries  the  shape 
and  color  of  those  in  my  old  geography  at  home.  We  are  just 
passing  a  lighthouse.  It  looks  like  a  big  steel  needle  standing  on 
end.  Things  smell  different  already.  The  captain  says  that  we 
will  get  into  Liverpool  to-night.  I  hope  that  you  are  well,  and  that 
grandma  will  not  get  sick  while  I  am  away.  Mrs.  Adams  tells  me 
about  all  the  glorious  things  we  are  going  to  see.  I  can  hardly 
believe  that  I  am  going  to  see  such  glorious  things.  I  will  write 
you  about  everything.  I  was  very  sorry  to  leave  you  in  Boston. 
If  you  need  ine,  or  grandma  gets  sick,  please  send  me  a  telegram  at 
once,  and  I  will  come  right  home,  even  without  Mrs.  Adams.  She 
is  very,  very  kind  to  me.  But  you  have  been  kindest  of  all.  I 
shall  never  forget  it.  Good-bye,  dear  Mr.  Craighead.  Please  don't 
work  too  hard,  and  make  yourself  sick. 

Ever  sincerely,  your  loving  wife, 

TRUTH." 

"  What  a  school-girl ! "  laughed  Craighead.  "  What  a 
refreshing,  innocent  little  letter !  She  expresses  herself 
simply  and  directly ;  ease  will  come  later.  She  is  a  dear 
child.  I  shall  tell  her  to  go  to  the  best  photographer  in 
Paris  and  be  taken  in  several  poses." 

A  few  days  earlier  Craighead  had  received  a  dainty 
little  note  from  Orchid,  asking  him  to  visit  them  at 
their  charming  summer  place  on  Ponkatuck  Island. 
He  had  been  there  for  several  days  the  previous  sum- 
mer. He  knew  well  the  fine  yachting  among  the  neigh- 
boring islands,  the  rich  fishing,  the  comfortable  castle, 
the  delicious  fare,  and,  better  than  all,  the  soft,  luxur- 
ious languor  of  the  climate,  so  in  harmony  with  the  per- 


BAITED    WITH    A    LIVE    LORD      179 

sonal  moods  of  the  Lady  of  Ponkatuck.  The  note,  in 
spite  of  the  inconceivable  audacity  of  its  request,  had 
been  something  of  a  temptation,  but  one  quickly  over- 
come. Orchid  doubtless  knew  of  Truth's  absence,  and 
of  Van's  loneliness.  If  her  long  silence  had  been 
ominous  of  a  secret  campaign,  this  was,  indeed,  its 
opening  gun.  She  had  not  written  to  him  since  his 
last  court-room  triumph.  How  narrowly  Norton  had 
saved  him  from  peril  that  fateful  night !  He  held  the 
master  hand  over  Orchid  now,  and  meant  to  keep  it. 
She  could  have  real  power  to  injure  Truth  only  through 
his  weakness. 

Not  long  after  receiving  his  wife's  letter  a  second, 
more  enticing,  invitation  arrived  from  the  lady  he  had 
sworn  to  shun.  "  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  cap- 
ture Lord  Gayrock,"  she  wrote,  mentioning  a  famous 
Englishman  then  on  a  visit  to  the  "  States."  "  He  has 
promised  to  give  us  several  days.  Knowing  your  ad- 
miration for  his  lordship,  I  can't  bear  to  have  him  go 
without  meeting  you.  Also  I  have  ventured  to  tell  him 
of  the  brilliant  promise  of  your  career.  Of  course  he  is 
English — painfully  so  —  and  knows  everything;  but 
one  does  not  have  the  privilege  of  sitting  on  the  hub  of 
the  British  diplomatic  wheel  every  day.  Do  come  down 
Saturday  afternoon,  and  stay  over  Sunday.  Tom  begs 
me  to  urge  you  in  his  name.  My  invitation  would,  of 
course,  include  Mrs.  Craighead,  but  that  I  hear  she  is 
abroad.  Please  let  me  know  by  wire  if  you  are  com- 
ing, so  that  I  can  arrange  to  have  no  outsiders  present. 
You  and  Lord  Gayrock  will  be  quite  enough  for  one 
small  island." 

Van  realized  in  an  instant  that  he  should  go.  This 
would  be  an  exceptional  opportunity  for  keeping  up  a 
nominal  friendship  with  the  Wileys,  and  surely  Orchid, 
with  so  distinguished  a  visitor  to  entertain,  would  find 
little  chance  of  forcing  t§te-d-tete  upon  Craighead.  Be- 
sides, here  was  a  man  to  meet  1  Lord  G.  had  been  a 
member  of  half  the  ministries  that  had  governed  the 
tight  little  island  for  the  last  twenty  years.  What  argu- 


180  TRUTH    DEXTER 

ments  he,  Craighead,  could  provoke !  What  policies 
extort  from  the  rose-embowered  lion!  Orchid  should 
see  that  he  was  not  deteriorating,  that  his  mental  plas- 
ticity was  not  dependent  upon  her  touch.  He  sent  a 
message  of  assent  forthwith. 

Saturday  came.  The  ride  out  over  the  Southern 
branch  of  the  Old  Colony  Railroad  was  an  interesting 
one.  Within  a  few  hours  he  had  plunged  into  a  new 
and  softer  climate.  Massachusetts'  beautiful  southern 
bay  with  the  ornithological  name  lay  blue  as  a  tur- 
quoise in  the  morning  light,  and  was  crusted  at  the 
edge  with  an  almost  unbroken  line  of  villas,  whose  cool 
grays  gleamed  against  it  like  a  setting  of  antique  silver. 
Land's  end  was  reached  at  that  queer  dumping-ground 
called  Wood's  Holl,  where  a  powerful  steamer  lay  in 
wait  for  passengers  to  the  island  resorts  of  Martha's 
Vineyard  and  Nantucket.  The  sail  out  into  the  open 
sound  refreshed  Van's  jaded  senses.  The  scrub-covered 
coast  of  Cape  Cod  vanished  in  a  forbidding,  unbroken 
line  to  the  east  of  Falmouth  Harbor.  Newport  lay  off 
somewhere  in  the  blue  films  of  distance  along  the  south- 
west. Dozens  of  little  yachts  and  schooners  darted  like 
butterflies  across  the  greenish  waters  of  the  shallows. 
Far  to  the  south  could  be  descried  an  ocean  liner  whose 
passengers  doubtless  hailed  with  joy  this  first  glimpse  of 
home-land  welcome  as  they  beat  their  way  up  toward 
Fire  Island.  Van  was  impressed  anew  by  the  sweet- 
scented  moisture  of  the  air.  It  distilled  into  the  lungs 
like  a  rich,  intoxicating  balm.  It  was  the  spice  of  the 
South !  He  had  inhaled  it  at  Biloxi.  Here  the  magic 
of  the  Gulf  Stream  became  a  tangible  reality,  its  outly- 
ing currents  playing  lovingly  about  the  roots  of  the 
Cape  islands,  ere  it  leaped  in  its  bountiful  mission 
across  to  the  alien  coasts  of  distant  Ireland. 

At  Martha's  Vineyard  Van  left  the  steamer,  and  found 
waiting  for  him  at  the  antique,  rotting  wharf  one  of 
Tom  Wiley's  smaller  yachts.  The  island  of  Ponkatuck 
lay  but  a  mere  speck  to  the  southeast,  in  the  very  track 
of  vessels  bound  for  Boston  and  Portland. 


BAITED    WITH    A    LIVE    LORD      181 

Van  was  well  acquainted  with  the  bronzed  skipper,  a 
veritable  sea-dog,  whose  memories  smacked  of  ancient 
whale-oil  and  a  loyal  Nantucket  pride  in  brick-built 
streets  not  yet  overgrown  with  grass  and  mould. 

"  Well,  Captain  Whittaker  I  What  luck  this  season  ?  " 
Van  had  seated  himself  in  the  little  cuddy,  while  the  old 
sailor  made  the  white-winged  yacht  skim  like  a  gull. 

"  Waal !  'Bout  th'  same  !  They  ain't  any  p'tick'ler 
change's,  as  I  knows  on.  A  sou'easter  lay  out  new  reef 
'long  from  Pollock's.  Ye  c'n  walk  now  harf  'mile  where 
we  used  to  troll  for  them  bass.  Land  here  's  about 's 
onsartin  as  pollyticks." 

Ponkatuck  was  hardly  more  than  a  rock  with  a  sweep 
of  open  ground  clinging  to  it  on  the  north,  a  remnant, 
perhaps,  of  vast  fields  that  the  insatiate  Atlantic  had 
eaten  away.  The  island  was  owned,  entire,  by  Mr. 
Thomas  C.  Wiley,  with  the  exception  of  a  tiny  corner 
reserved  for  the  lighthouse  service,  and  the  life-saving 
station.  Landing  on  a  narrow  strip  of  beach,  Van  made 
his  ascent  by  a  light  zigzag  wooden  stairway  to  the  brow 
of  the  chaotic  in-beaten  cliffs.  The  extraordinary  beauty 
of  the  place  impressed  Craighead  as  if  it  were  his  first 
visit.  The  house,  a  veritable  chateau,  built  out  of  rock 
as  gray  as  that  on  which  it  stood,  and  not  visible  from 
the  landing  beach,  hung  out  over  the  sea  behind  a  pro- 
jecting buttress  of  taller  cliffs,  so  that  a  view  from  the 
southwest  windows,  even  to  one  leaning  far  over  the  sill, 
yielded  but  a  blue-green  sweep  of  ocean  streaked  with 
purple.  By  another  guardian  arm  of  granite  it  was 
sheltered  from  the  worst  fury  of  easterly  storms. 

The  greater  part  of  it  was  spread  with  an  imbricate 
woof  of  Japanese  ivy,  thick  and  green  in  the  middle,  but 
spindling  upward  to  pinkish  tendrils  that  lay  flat  and 
close  against  the  unmortared  stone.  On  the  landward 
side  opened  a  garden  and  a  tennis-court,  through  whose 
smoothed  surfaces  the  original  rock  cropped  up  to  spy 
jealously,  and  only  a  few  scanty  pines  dared  to  obtrude. 
Off  to  the  east,  bounding  a  long  rolling  slope  of  coarse 
high  grass  where  a  herd  of  Jersey  cattle  found  fairly 


182  TRUTH    DEXTER 

congenial  pasturage,  stretched  a  dazzling  line  of  white 
sand-dunes  heaped  against  the  sky  like  hasty  breast- 
works of  a  foe  sullenly  retreating  before  the  Atlantic's 
remorseless  cannonade.  But  every  portion  of  this  chan- 
nel island,  this  new-world  Alderney,  —  cranny  of  cliff  or 
slope  of  beach,  garden  space  or  rankish  pasture,  —  was 
abloom  with  flowers,  —  with  a  flower  that  feared  neither 
wind  nor  sand,  nor  rock  nor  scorching  sunshine,  —  the 
glowing  nasturtium.  The  old  gray  granite  Druids  were 
powerless  beneath  these  riotous  chaplets.  The  daring 
elves  ventured  over  the  very  ramparts  of  the  sea-wall, 
hanging  in  long  loops  of  green  and  scarlet,  like  festoons 
of  monkeys  in  tropic  forests,  and  spouting  taunts  at  the 
helpless  waves.  They  heaped  themselves  in  careless 
ambush  along  the  borders  of  the  lawn,  \vhence  they 
rushed  to  assault  the  ivied  foundations  of  the  intruding 
castle.  The  steps  were  fretted  with  them,  the  balconies 
half-sunken  in  their  intoxicating  bowers.  Fierce  their 
colors  to  the  eye.  Sunlight  lay  cool  above  them,  — here 
fallen  in  great  coins  of  copper,  bronze,  and  gold,  there 
tossed  in  flecks  of  burnished  lacquer,  —  meteor-fountains 
of  ruby,  topaz,  and  chrysoprase  from  the  treasure-laden 
earth,  flint  sparks  struck  from  the  storm-hammered 
rocks,  spray-borne  memories  of  the  phosphorescent  sea ! 
Gazing  at  them,  Craighead  recalled  the  fire-roses  of  the 
South. 

Orchid  stood  on  the  gray  steps,  clad  in  a  straight- 
Changing  gown  of  nasturtium  orange. 

"  Ah !  you  have  come !  Your  boat  was  late  1 "  She 
was  as  na'ive  and  bright  as  a  child. 

"  Yes  1  I  'm  here  at  last,  unless  I  dream  —  a  salaman- 
der's dream,"  he  responded,  smiling.  She  shook  hands 
with  him  frankly,  then  led  him  up  into  the  cool  shade. 
"  This  is  the  castle  of  dreams,"  she  said.  "  We  intend 
to  keep  our  guests  under  the  spell  of  this  spice  wind. 
Boston  must  be  a  nightmare,  these  days ! "  She  did  not 
inquire  about  Truth. 

Whittaker  now  arrived  with  Van's  two  heavy  "grips," 
and  the  guest  was  shown  to  his  room.  He  knew  it  well. 


BAITED    WITH    A    LIVE    LORD      183 

It  was  one  of  those  overhanging  the  ocean,  where  the 
low,  continuous  roar,  filling  his  ears  and  lungs,  flowed  in 
his  very  blood.  How  different  it  was  from  the  long, 
lazy,  perfumed  breathing  of  the  Southern  Gulf !  There 
one  listened  to  the  sensuous,  deliberate  growth  of  sound, 
the  whisper  of  a  wave  at  languid  play,  the  thin  pushing 
up  the  sand,  the  long-drawn  satisfied  sigh  as  it  spread 
its  ripples  out  to  the  farthest  voluptuous  edge,  then  fell 
back  exhausted  among  its  fellows.  Here  its  voice  was 
the  strident  din  of  an  invading  army,  the  unbroken  clat- 
ter of  iron-shod  feet  over  deserted  pavements,  backed 
with  a  muffled  cannonade  along  a  line  of  distant  walls, 
and  rising  to  the  occasional  explosion  of  a  nearer  bomb. 
How  Truth  would  shrink  from  such  a  place  as  this ! 
Orchid,  he-  knew,  worshipped  it  all  in  a  sort  of  pagan 
ecstasy.  "  At  times  the  sea  has  actually  saved  my  rea- 
son," she  once  said  to  him.  "  What  is  the  use  of  fret- 
ting,  and  tossing,  and  gnashing  my  teeth,  when  the 
ocean  is  doing  it  for  me  ?  I  use  it  as  the  old  Brahmin 
used  his  prayer-wheel." 

Descending,  Craighead  found  his  hostess  still  upon 
the  round,  ivy-shaded  veranda  under  the  boldest  tower 
of  the  house.  A  large  telescope  mounted  on  a  tripod 
was  ready  to  sweep  the  horizon  for  passing  steamers. 
Sometimes  these  came  so  close  that  Orchid  could  almost 
hail  them.  This,  he  knew,  was  her  favorite  nook.  She 
was  lying  on  an  old  East  Indian  wicker  chair,  —  such 
as  Tom's  grandfather  used  to  bring  over  in  his  patient 
barks  to  Timothy  Pickering's  Salem  —  propped  with 
cushions,  and  waving  carelessly  a  huge  round  fan  of 
plaited  green  and  orange  straw.  On  an  Egyptian  table 
of  ancient  hammered  brass  stood  pitchers  of  iced  drinks, 
crimson  sangarees,  yellow  cobblers,  and  paler  lemonade. 
A  book  was  lying,  face  down,  beside  them.  He  read  the 
title :  Ibsen's  "  Lady  from  the  Sea." 

"You  have  found  the  coolest  place,"  she  smiled  in 
welcome.  "  Now  take  that  Chinese  chair,  a  fan,  a  cob- 
bler, and  be  happy !  "  There  was  no  trace  of  coquetry 
in  her  tone  or  manner.  She  went  on,  "  Tom  and  Lord 


184  TRUTH   DEXTER 

Gayrock  are  still  out  fishing.  I'm  expecting  them  in 
every  instant.  I  want  to  tell  you  about  Lord  G.  He  is 
really  the  most  delightful  man  I  have  ever  met."  If 
this  contained  a  covert  challenge,  Van  ignored  it.  "  Of 
course,  as  I  wrote  you,  he  would  hardly  be  English  did 
he  not  sometimes  obtrude  his  insular  proclivities.  But 
he  's  genuinely  interested  in  everything  he  sees ;  and  I 
have  aroused  in  him  no  small  desire  to  meet  so  shining 
an  ornament  of  the  American  bar."  She  waved  her  fan 
graciously  toward  Craighead,  as  she  looked  frankly  into 
his  eyes.  He  had  never  seen  her  less  conscious  of  her- 
self, or  more  companionable. 

"  If  it  were  a  mere  question  of  success  in  a  local  cor- 
poration case,  I  should  hardly  presume  to  claim  his  atten- 
tion," he  answered,  smiling.  "  But  —  perhaps  you  know 
—  I  've  been  plunging  of  late  deeper  into  universal  ques- 
tions, studying  seriously  from  a  diplomatic  standpoint 
those  matters  of  world-interest  we  used  to  touch  upon  so 
lightly.  My  feeling  that  it  was  my  professional  duty  to 
meet  your  distinguished  guest  satisfied  the  scruples  of 
duty,  —  as  the  privilege  of  conversing  with  his  brilliant 
hostess  gratified  the  claims  of  pleasure." 

He  was  bold  thus  to  couple  the  past  and  the  present, 
and  to  steer  safely  between  unnecessary  rudeness  and 
fear  of  over  gallantry.  Orchid  did  not  wince  by  so 
much  as  an  eyelash.  He  was  thankful  for  her  tact. 
Suspicion  was  disarmed,  and  they  chatted  together  like 
two  rusticating  children  who  have  not  happened  to  meet 
since  the  previous  summer. 

"Van,  do  you  know,  —  I  always  felt  that  you  were 
cut  out  for  some  great  career.  Why  should  you  not 
stride,  like  the  Secretary  of  State,  from  local  practice 
to  brilliant  statesmanship?  Lord  Gayrock  thinks  the 
draft  of  that  arbitration  treaty,  whether  doomed  to 
present  success  or  failure,  a  most  masterly  precedent. 
Think,  too,  of  his  firmness  at  Chicago !  We  are  fast 
drifting  into  times  when  we  shall  feel  the  need  of 
wills  like  yours,  solid  as  that  lighthouse  over  on  the 
cliff." 


BAITED    WITH    A    LIVE    LORD      185 

"  Have  you  talked  with  his  Lordship  about  this  threat- 
ening silver-craze  ?  " 

"  No.  I  leave  finance  to  Tom.  Of  course  the  Presi- 
dent is  beside  himself  with  worry.  We  are  all  going 
over  to  McKinley,  willy-nilly.  But,  oh,  if  McKinley 
had  but  one  tithe  of  your  adamantine  persistence ! " 

And  so  they  talked,  while  the  round  shadows  of  nas- 
turtium leaves  crept  eastward  across  the  marble  floor, 
and  blue  afternoon  mists,  like  drowsy  thought  made 
visible,  floated  in  from  the  bar  of  the  horizon.  Her 
words  were  full  of  interest,  enthusiasm,  encourage- 
ment. Evidently  her  mind  was  alert  with  all  the 
English  statesman  had  been  telling  her.  She  vibrated 
with  intuitive  appreciation  of  Van's  new-fledged  am- 
bitions. Some  of  her  observations  fairly  startled  Van 
by  their  acuteness.  Here  was  Orchid  at  her  best,  keen, 
brilliant,  intellectual,  sympathetic,  impersonal.  The  lan- 
guorous and  seductive  Orchid,  the  piqued  and  jealous 
Orchid,  he  looked  for  in  vain.  Could  she  ever  have  ex- 
isted? Oh,  that  Orchid  might  have  remained  always 
thus !  He  sighed  involuntarily  for  the  old  companion- 
ship, the  quick  repartee,  the  sparkling  wit,  the  marvel- 
lous intuition,  the  sound  judgment  in  all  matters  save 
those  that  touched  her  personal  vanity,  the  unaffected 
interest  in  his  own  career.  He  was  conscious  of  a  vague 
wish  that  gossip  and  marriage  were  alike  drowned  in  the 
outer  sea,  and  that  the  fatal  interview  preceding  his 
Southern  trip  had  never  been  forced. 

"Sometimes  I  cannot  help  wishing  I  were  a  man," 
Orchid  cried  with  flashing  eyes.  "  Such  aims  and  oppor- 
tunities as  yours  make  life  real !  If  I  were  you,  Van,  I 
would  fill  Music  Hall  with  a  swaying,  shouting  mass  of 
maddened  followers,  pliant  to  my  purpose.  If  I  were  a 
man,  I  would  seize,  —  as  I  now  can  but  see  —  the  very 
heart  of  the  web  of  intrigue.  History  should  be  my  food, 
law  my  armor,  but  knowledge  of  men  my  sword !  Noth- 
ing should  stand  against  me !  I  would  hold  the  world  in 
my  hand,  —  a  tinted  ball !  Oh,  to  be  a  man ! " 

"  Women  have  done  as  much,"  he  said  slowly. 


186  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Yes !  And  how  ?  "  she  flashed  back.  "  Like  a  Punch 
and  Judy  show,  with  men  for  rag-babies  1  The  more 
pliable  the  babies,  the  funnier  their  antics!  the  more 
one  succeeds,  the  greater  the  contempt  for  one's  means 
of  success.  And  who  would  wish  to  wreck  things,  like 
Cleopatra,  for  her  own  silly  pleasure  ?  Women  are 
always  doing  that !  —  No  ;  no  !  —  "  she  sat  upright,  her 
face  electric,  —  "  women's  weapons  are  weakness ;  men's 
weakness  and  their  own.  I  adore  strength  !  It 's  the 
grandeur  of  the  cause  I  would  lead,  the  imminence  of  the 
world-issue,  that  stings  my  veins ! " 

"  You  have  not  always  been  so  altruistic  in  your  emo- 
tions," he  said  quickly,  and  the  next  moment  could  have 
bitten  his  tongue  for  saying  it. 

"That's  what  I  tell  you  is  a  curse  of  sex,"  she 
replied  coolly.  "  Perhaps  in  the  case  of  a  few  it  is  not 
irremediable." 

"  Would  you  have  cared  to  be  Jeanne  d'Arc  ? "  he 
asked,  by  way  of  a  hasty  retreat. 

There  was  a  pause.  "  Yes,  because  of  her  power. 
But  I  should  not  have  wasted  it  all  on  that  fool  of  a 
king ! " 

"  What  would  you  have  done  ?  " 

"  Heaven  knows  !  Think  of  the  opportunities !  I 
might  have  killed  the  king  and  his  sneaking  courtiers, 
and  set  up  a  man,  —  myself,  had  I  been  one !  Then  I 
would  have  sent  a  trusty  general  to  sham  treason  with 
the  English,  and  lead  them  into  a  deadly  ambush ! " 

"You  would  reverse  history,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her 
excitement. 

"  Of  course  I  would !  What  man  worth  calling  a 
leader  who  does  n't !  Did  n't  Napoleon  ?  If  Bryan  is  a 
real  man,  and  not  a  wind-bag,  he  will  ride  his  tatterde- 
malion legions  into  the  White  House,  and  there  dictate 
terms  to  them.  Just  as  it  is  the  joy  of  an  artist  to  carve 
ideas  out  of  a  given  fact,  —  a  castle  out  of  sea-worn 
rocks,  if  you  will  —  so  it  is  the  privilege  of  a  statesman 
to  coin  the  very  despairs  of  his  age  into  success.  The 
present  is  a  streaky  piece  of  marble  enough,  but  a 


BAITED    WITH    A    LIVE    LORD      187 

genius  should  spell  out.  his  key  to  the  future  in  its 
every  vein.  —  Ah,  I  hear  Tom  and  Lord  Gayrock  com- 
ing up  the  ladder  ! " 

She  rose  and  leaned  far  over  the  railing  to  watch  their 
approach.  "  What  a  string  of  fish !  Bravo,  my  lord ! 
I  see  you  are  a  fisher,  not  of  men  only.  I  began  to  fear 
that  you  would  be  too  late  for  dinner,  but  now  you  have 
brought  it  with  you.  My  lord,  this  is  Mr.  Craighead,  the 
young  Boston  advocate  who  is  so  deeply  interested  in 
British  politics." 

Van  greeted  the  foreign  dignitary  with  cool  self-posses- 
sion. Dignity  had  not  saved  the  great  man's  nose  from  a 
blister,  nor  his  aristocratic  person  from  the  homely  smell 
of  fish. 

"  Go  away,  —  both  of  you  ! "  cried  Orchid,  gayly. 
"  This  is  n't  a  fish  market !  You  are  positively  dis- 
reputable 1 "  But  she  went  up  to  his  lordship  with  a 
look  that  more  than  cancelled  her  bright  inhospitality, 
and  fluttered  about  him  with  questions  concerning  his 
"  spin,"  and  his  fatigue,  until  Van,  quite  neglected, 
turned  away  to  the  sea. 

Lord  Gayrock's  face  had  its  full  share  of  that  British 
heaviness,  that  hereditary  doom  of  self-satisfaction  and 
fat,  which  Americans  have  come  to  associate  with  the 
more  famous  among  their  English  cousins.  Van  felt 
that  his  only  possible  outlook  upon  the  universe  was 
through  the  high  gold  rim  of  his  own  eyeglasses.  "  Small 
chance  for  argument  there  !  "  thought  the  younger  man ; 
and  he  was  right.  Lord  Gayrock  did  not  argue.  He 
listened  ponderously,  pityingly,  to  cruder  views ;  then, 
out  of  the  largeness  of  his  nature,  diffused  adjustments. 
As  soon  might  an  unbidden  guest  sneak  into  the  Queen's 
drawing-room  through  a  back  window,  as  an  idea  impart 
itself  to  Lord  G.'s  intelligence  until  labelled  "  made  in 
England."  He  might  be  a  man,  —  that  exit  led  to  the 
kitchen.  He  might  be  a  philanthropist,  —  that  was  the 
door  to  his  private  chapeL  But  his  brain  had  only  a 
single  wicket,  —  he  would  have  called  it  a  triumphal  arch 
—  and  the  Lion  and  the  Unicorn  were  its  door-posts. 


188  TRUTH    DEXTER 

The  dinner,  that  evening,  was  informal.  Craighead 
sat  on  Orchid's  left,  Lord  Gayrock  at  her  right ;  but  the 
smiles  of  the  hostess  were  reserved  almost  exclusively 
for  the  Englishman.  "  Now  she 's  trying  to  pique  me," 
thought  Van,  with  satisfaction. 

Orchid  seemed  to  hang  upon  his  lordship's  every  word, 
drinking  in  thankfully  at  that  fountain  of  wisdom.  "  Any 
fool  could  tell  her  those  things !  "  thought  Van,  angrily. 
"  They  appear  in  the  London  papers  as  regularly  as 
advertisements.  She  must  be  feigning  interest !  " 

As  dinner  progressed,  Craighead's  self-satisfaction  van- 
ished. His  hostess's  interest  in  Lord  G.  was  apparently 
fmuine,  and  indisputably  absorbing.  The  large-faced 
nglishman  received  this  homage  as  no  more  than  his 
due.  His  manner  was  condescendingly  affable,  and,  to 
one  onlooker  at  least,  excessively  irritating. 

Conversation  soon  practically  narrowed  down  to  dia- 
logues between  the  vivacious  Orchid  and  her  magnani- 
mous visitor.  Tom,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  had  nailed 
the  good-humored  smile  of  a  host  across  his  ruddy  coun- 
tenance, and  behind  that  placard  had  quietly  gone  off 
fishing.  The  Boston  lawyer  sat  with  his  eyes  riveted 
on  his  plate,  like  a  sulky  school-boy. 

Most  disquieting  of  all  were  Orchid's  occasional  apolo- 
getic efforts  to  draw  Van  within  the  charmed  circle. 
With  a  start  she  would  seem  to  recall  herself,  and  desire 
to  make  restitution  to  the  slighted  guest.  This  was 
almost  more  than  he  could  endure.  Graciously  pliant 
to  his  hostess's  will,  Lord  G.  would  peer  downward  an 
instant  at  Van,  murmuring  a  thickly  accented  "  Aw  — 
yes!  —  Mr.  aw  —  Craghead — as  I  was  saying  to  —  aw 
—  Meeses  Wilaw  — "  etc.,  etc.,  until  at  times  the  younger 
guest  had  to  clench  his  fists  beneath  the  table  in  order 
to  prevent  himself  from  committing  murder.  He  could 
not  trust  himself  to  return  the  glance,  and  his  answers 
grew  so  curt  that  Lord  G.  at  last  forsook  Orchid  and  a 
pineapple-ice  at  the  same  time,  that  he  might  put  up 
a  gleaming  monocle  to  wither  the  insurgent. 

"  Aw  —  I  perceive  our  young  friend  across  table  is 


BAITED    WITH    A    LIVE    LORD      189 

nawt  —  interested  in  —  aw  —  international  policy.  Shall 
we  change  the  topic,  me  dear  Mrs.  Wilaw,  to  — aw  — 
sport?" 

Orchid's  smothered  giggle  was  like  salt  to  a  new 
wound.  Tom  looked  more  like  a  cow  than  ever. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  Mr.  Craighead  is  vitally  interested 
in,"  said  Orchid,  hurriedly.  "  The  problem  of  recon- 
struction between  North  and  South.  After  the  war, 
you  know,  our  radical  leaders  iniquitously  gave  the 
slaves  that  pocket- weapon  of  assassination,  the  ballot. 
At  last  we  recognize  our  mistake.  We  have  murdered 
the  aristocracy  of  the  land.  It  would  be  quite  like  bring- 
ing in  wild  Irishmen  to  settle  on  your  own  landed  estates, 
my  lord." 

"  How  —  aw  —  extra-ordinarily     interesting !  "     re- 
marked his  lordship,  swivelling  his  double-barrelled  eye- 
sight again  on  Van's  sullen  defences.    "  And  is  —  aw  - 
Mr.  Craighead  devising  a  plahn  for  —  aw  —  disfranchis- 
ing the  blacks  ?  " 

Orchid  drew  a  long  sigh.  "  Ah,  my  lord !  We  all 
see  now  that  England  was  right  in  her  view  of  our  little 
brotherly  quarrel.  The  true  British  chivalry  and  cul- 
ture of  the  Stuart  cavaliers  became  concentrated  in  the 
life  of  our  Southern  plantations.  In  growing  cotton  for 
your  world-famed  manufactures  a  congenial  and  normal 
alliance  was  maintained  with  the  mother- country.  Alas  ! 
our  canting,  money-grubbing  Puritans  overturned  all 
that.  But  to-day  we  are  retrieving  the  error  by  our- 
selves renewing  that  broken  alliance  of  wealth  with 
aristocratic  culture.  It  is  only  by  the  intermarriage  of 
our  most  typical  families  that  the  problem  can  be  solved. 
Now,  Mr.  Craighead  represents  one  of  the  oldest  manu- 
facturing dynasties  of  Massachusetts,  and  he  has  recently 
executed  a  treaty  of  marriage  with  a  charmingly  refined 
granddaughter  of  the  most  lordly  of  Alabama's  ante- 
bellum estates." 

Orchid  expanded  her  slim  chest  with  oratorial  effusion 
as  she  uttered  these  bombastic  sentences. 

Lord  Gayrock  gave  her  a  doubtful  glance,  but  re- 


190  TRUTH    DEXTER 

marked,  with  well-bred  interest,  "  Quite  extraordinary, 
don't  you  know!  Alabama!  Let  me  see.  Yes,  I  re- 
member! There  was  a  battleship  of  that  name.  We 
believed  in  the  courage  of  your  wife's  splendid  race, 
Mr.  Craighead.  It  is  now  far  too  late  to  dwell  upon  the 
moral  issues  involved  in  that  unfortunate  misunder- 
standing, but,  whatever  her  principles,  the  South  gave 
us  a  wonderf ul  illustration  of  chivalrous  loyalty.  We 
of  England  have  been  accused  of  partisanship.  Cer- 
tainly it  is  true  that  even  now  we  rejoice  to  see,  with 
the  administration  of  your  great  democratic  President, 
the  South  being  re-invested  with  some  of  the  power 
which  is  her  due.  And  is  it,  if  I  may  ask,  part  of  your 
plan  to  reorganize  that  Southern  labor  which  your  un- 
scrupulous demagogues  so  ruthlessly  destroyed  ?  " 

The  blood  had  surged  into  Craighead's  face  and  back 
to  his  heart  more  than  once  as  he  listened,  silently,  to 
this  oration.  The  words  and  the  obtuseness  of  the 
Englishman  did  not  anger  him ;  it  was  that  small,  tri- 
umphant, mocking  smile  on  Orchid's  red  lips,  the  bovine 
alarm  that  spread  to  her  husband.  Was  this,  then,  her 
motive  in  securing  Lord  Gayrock's  presence,  and  then 
tricking  him,  Craighead,  into  coming  ?  Revenge,  subtle 
taunts,  a  hugging  of  herself  in  the  after-thought,  —  of 
all  these  she  was  capable.  Now  let  him  break  a  lance 
with  his  lordship,  or  be  what  Orchid  was  trying  to  prove 
him  —  a  fool ! 

The  young  man's  hands  were  steady,  his  eyes  level  and 
calm,  as  he  lifted  his  face  from  his  plate  to  meet  Lord 
Gayrock's  gaze.  Only  one  swift  glance,  flashed  toward 
Orchid,  was  like  the  metaphorical  blow  from  an  antago- 
nist's glove. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said  gently,  "  allow  me  to  correct  the 
impression  that  Mrs.  Wiley  has  unwittingly  given.  It 
is  true  that  I  am  married  to  a  young  Southern  lady,  a 
daughter  of  the  old  aristocracy.  She  is  at  present,  to  her 
own  advantage  and  my  personal  loss,  a  sojourner  in  your 
lordship's  charming  country.  Her  native  state  is  Ala- 
bama, and  you  are  quite  correct  in  your  supposition  that 


BAITED   WITH   A   LIVE    LORD      191 

there  was  a  battleship  of  that  name.  Perhaps  you  can 
also  recall  what  England  had  to  pay  for  her  erroneous 
sympathy  with  that  ship  and  her  cause.  The  partisan- 
ship of  England,  at  that  time  of  bitter  struggle,  arose,  I 
am  inclined  to  think,  more  from  the  personal  interest  of 
her  manufacturers  than  from  higher  and  more  intelligent 
motives.  Surely  England's  educated  classes  could  not 
have  wished  to  uphold  an  antiquated,  rotten  state  of 
semi-civilization  which  they  themselves  discarded  in  1688. 
Perhaps,  too,  your  countrymen  somewhat  underrated  the 
strength  of  our  Northern  yeomanry,  men  of  that  very 
vigor  and  mettle  in  which  your  lordship's  own  ministry 
is  so  safely  rooted.  It  is  impossible,  under  certain  atmos- 
pheric conditions,  to  gain  proper  perspective  across  the 
water.  Vision  is  deflected,  you  know,  and  an  eye  fixed 
upon  —  say  —  Alabama,  might  easily  be  shattered  against 
a  cotton-mill  in  Massachusetts." 

Lord  Gayrock  cocked  one  bushy  eyebrow  into  a  hu- 
morous interrogation.  He  looked  at  the  young  man 
with  more  interest  than  he  had  yet  shown. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  he  said  gravely,  "  but  now  that  I  am 
bodily  in  A-may-ricka,  my  eye,  when  fixed  upon  a  negro, 
can  scarcely  rest  upon  a  white  man.  The  negro  problem 
is  the  real  one  for  your  South." 

"  Ah,  that  unfortunate  race ! "  cried  Van,  the  studied 
coldness  of  his  manner  deserting  him  all  at  once.  "  We 
cannot  transport  and  exterminate  these  innocent  people. 
For  their  sakes  and  our  own,  we  must  educate  them, 
taking  the  chances  of  danger  in  the  process.  The  sin 
of  their  enforced  ignorance  shall  be  visited  upon  our 
children's  children." 

"  This  interest  in  posterity  is  new,"  said  Orchid  with 
an  unpleasant  laugh. 

Craighead  flushed  in  spite  of  himself,  and  the  sen- 
tence at  the  tip  of  his  tongue  faltered.  Orchid  saw  her 
opportunity. 

"  Let  me  explain !  "  she  broke  in.  "  Mr.  Craighead's 
theories  do  him  credit,  but,  alas !  I  fear  that  they  can 
never  be  more  than  theories.  He  is  wedded  to  a  con- 


192  TRUTH    DEXTER 

crete  opposition.  We  could  have  no  such  revolutionary 
discussions  were  Mrs.  Craighead  present.  Fancy  her 
horror  at  the  very  thought  of  a  cultured  black.  I  con- 
fess to  some  sympathy  with  her  point  of  view.  Think 
what  may  come  of  it !  Thrifty  negroes  buying  up  the 
soil  of  the  South,  and  employing  grandchildren  of  their 
former  masters  to  till  it !  Mon  Dieu !  We  might  as  well 
annex  Hayti  at  once  !  " 

"  Or  Hawaii,"  put  in  his  lordship,  shrewdly. 

Orchid  glanced  at  the  great  man  with  dancing  eyes. 
"  Ah,  my  lord,  you  see  everything !  You  will  digest  our 
American  types  like  so  many  truffles.  What  a  pity  that 
you  are  not  to  meet  Mrs.  Craighead !  With  her  aristo- 
cratic Southern  manners  and  untutored  ways  she  brings 
a  new  element  into  Boston's  jaded  atmosphere." 

"  That 's  true,  —  every  word  of  it ! "  cried  honest  Tom. 
"Mrs.  Craighead  is  one  of  the  sweetest,  frankest,  most 
charming  brides  that  Boston  has  seen  for  many  a  day. 
All  our  club  fellows  think  Van  the  deuce  of  a  lucky 
chap!" 

At  this,  conversation  seemed  stricken  with  sudden  par- 
alysis. Orchid  gave  an  impatient  gesture  of  dismissal ; 
the  dinner  broke  up,  and  Van  pleaded  headache  as  an 
excuse  to  withdraw  from  the  smoking-room,  whither,  as 
the  evening  air  was  a  trifle  chill  for  the  veranda,  Orchid 
had  accompanied  the  gentlemen  for  an  innocent  Egyptian 
cigarette. 

He  made  for  the  beach,  but  loneliness  did  not  soothe. 
Returning  to  the  balcony,  boisterous  laughter  greeted 
him  from  the  window.  He  glanced  within,  and  saw  that 
Tom  had  vanished.  It  was  a  close  iete-a-ttte.  Orchid's 
voice  rose  in  the  ascendant,  forcing  something  upon  his 
lordship  in  a  tone  of  outrageously  effusive  flattery.  Had 
she  heard  him,  Craighead,  approach  ?  With  a  sneer  of 
disgust  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  hurried  to  his  bed- 
room through  the  dimly  lighted  hall.  There  he  lay 
awake  for  hours,  coolly  weighing  Orchid's  probable 
motives,  and  rehearsing  his  campaign  of  procedure  for 
the  following  day. 


BAITED    WITH    A    LIVE    LORD      193 

"  Wonderful  creature ! "  he  thought  with  increasing 
equanimity.  "  She  is  only  trying  to  goad  me  into  action. 
She  wants  to  see  a  good  round  fight.  I  '11  empty  the  res- 
ervoir of  her  malice  before  this  time  to-morrow,  —  or 
know  the  reason  why  1  Thunder !  What  a  diplomat's 
wife  that  woman  would  have  made ! " 


13 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  PASSING  OF   THE  ANGLO-SAXON 

NEXT  morning  Craighead  ran  down  the  ladder  for  a 
plunge,  so  early  that  a  level  shaft  from  the  half-risen 
sun  was  shattered  against  a  lighthouse  on  Martha's 
Vineyard,  otherwise  invisible  in  the  lilac  haze.  A  soft, 
languid  breeze  rendered  the  moisture-laden  air  of  night 
an  exquisite  caress,  like  the  breath  of  a  child  just  wak- 
ing in  its  downy  crib.  The  little  harbor  was  deserted. 
Even  Whittaker  had  not  come  yet  to  examine  the  lob- 
ster traps ;  all  manner  of  creeping  and  sliding  things 
glistened  in  the  meshes  of  seaweed  that  were  tossed  at 
intervals  upon  the  beach.  The  yachts  lay  tranquilly 
at  their  moorings,  like  sea-birds  asleep  with  heads  tucked 
under  their  loosened  wings ;  only  the  long  swells  beneath 
their  keels  made  them  breathe  with  a  slight  nod  and  sigh, 
as  though  they  dreamed  of  delirious  poises  on  foam-beaten 
wave  crests. 

With  his  first  headlong  dive,  the  green  bubbles  stung 
him.  The  effervescence  was  like  that  of  uncorked  cham- 
pagne. He  felt  at  one  with  the  rhythmic  fluids  of  all 
elemental  creatures,  and  suddenly  that  strange,  unreason- 
ing joy  in  life  which  must  come,  however  rarely,  to  all 
healthy,  normal  human  beings,  took  possession  of  him. 
Age  was  nothing,  —  nor  time,  nor  space !  The  frets  and 
stings  of  last  night  were  of  less  account  than  the  torn 
bits  of  sea-fern,  that  lay  flaccid  for  an  instant  on  his  bare 
chest,  only  to  drift  away  at  the  next  breath. 

After  the  swim,  his  new  energy  spurred  him  to  a  walk 
inland,  a  scramble  over  crags,  and  a  race,  in  ten-league 
strides,  down  the  farther  slopes  of  the  cool  sand-dunes, 
until  he  found  himself  again  beside  the  water.  With  a 
boyish  instinct,  he  stooped  to  pick  up  the  wet  pebbles 


PASSING   OF   THE    ANGLO-SAXON     195 

that  the  sea  kept  tossing  at  his  feet.  Where  were  the 
reefs  of  amethyst  and  porphyry  from  whose  crown  these 
brilliants  had  been  torn  ?  He  could  not  guess ;  but 
their  jealous  tints,  alive  under  the  glaze  of  their  native 
medium,  faded  in  his  hands  to  common  chalk.  He  threw 
them  aside,  and  walked,  whistling,  to  the  very  point  of 
the  eastern  bar,  where  he  stood  looking  out  upon  a  tide 
which  ran  as  dark  as  blue  ink. 

How  hot  it  was  as  he  made  his  way  back  through  the 
tall  grass !  The  bees  were  out  in  force,  shooting  zigzags 
of  humming  vibration  across  the  mild  air,  or,  like  rival 
miners,  sinking  eager  shafts  into  placers  of  nasturtium 
gold. 

The  massive,  ivied  veranda  of  the  house,  this  August 
morning,  was  grateful  to  his  senses  as  the  cool  aisle  of  a 
cathedral.  A  slight  dizziness  blurred  his  vision  as  he 
threw  himself  into  a  long  straw  chair  and  watched  the 
pale  Atlantic  horizon  tremble  against  blue  ether  like  the 
far  wing  of  some  great,  sleepy  bird.  He  rang  for  coffee 
and  a  roll,  and  learned  from  servants  that  the  other  in- 
mates had  breakfasted  in  their  several  apartments.  One 
by  one  they  strolled  down,  as  the  irresponsible  inclination 
of  each  listed,  until  Orchid,  in  a  soft  pink  morning-gown, 
completed  the  circle  with  her  chastened  "  good-morning," 
and  placed  in  Lord  Gayrock's  hand  an  English  edition 
of  his  national  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  Accepted  and 
read  as  his  right,  there  was  no  trace  of  religious  mockery 
in  the  responses  of  the  mixed  congregation ;  rather  did 
the  patient  impassiveness  of  Tom,  the  pious  eagerness 
of  the  hostess,  and  the  nature-communing  mood  of  the 
young  lawyer  blend  in  a  strain  as  natural  as  the  ocean 
with  the  slow,  ponderous  intoning  of  his  lordship's  rev- 
erent voice,  that  now  called  down  the  blessing  of  Him 
who  kindled  the  sun  in  a  day,  and  shall  fold  up  the  sea 
as  a  scroll,  upon  the  gracious  sovereign,  Queen  Victoria, 
and  all  them  that  are  intrusted  with  her  authority.  Each 
one  present  felt  a  strange  sense  of  community  with  the 
millions  of  proud,  pious  hearts  breathing  that  day  the 
same  loyal  homage  in  eveiy  quarter  of  the  two  whirling 


196  TRUTH    DEXTER 

hemispheres,  on  every  dot  of  rock  or  speck  of  ship  in 
those  globular  wastes,  where  Anglo-Saxon  restlessness 
can  find  a  perch  for  its  winged  feet. 

A  light  luncheon  followed,  and  after  the  luncheon 
came  a  proposition  for  an  afternoon  spin  in  the  big 
steam-yacht  "  Burlington,"  a  private  extension  of  Tom's 
colossal  trans-Pacific  route  from  Shanghai  to  Boston. 

"  Would  n't  it  be  better  for  you,  Tom,  and  Lord 
Gay  rock  to  take  '  The  Orchid '  and  go  out  beyond 
Cresset  Rock  for  bluefish?'  queried  the  namesake  of 
that  graceful  little  vessel.  "  Perhaps  Mr.  Craighead 
is  tired  with  his  morning's  ramble,  and  might  prefer 
a  nap." 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed ! "  said  Van,  with  alacrity,  "  I  'm  as 
lively  as  a  school-boy  on  May-day.  The  sail  will  be 
the  very  thing  for  all  of  us,  and  I  'm  sure  you  can't  de- 
prive Lord  Gayrock  of  your  charming  companionship, 
Mrs.  Wiley." 

Van  and  Orchid  looked  into  each  other's  eyes;  but 
the  batteries  were  masked. 

The  sail  was,  indeed,  a  thing  of  joy,  —  boat,  people, 
sky,  and  ocean  rocking  as  one  against  the  heart  of  that 
sweet-tempered  afternoon.  Under  the  unscalable  banks 
of  the  deserted  Cape  they  lurked,  now  making  way  into 
little  scrub-fringed  creeks  that  are  bordered  in  spring 
with  the  silver  stars  of  the  arbutus,  and  overgrown  now 
with  whortleberry  and  the  scented  bay,  —  creeks  that 
led  to  silent  inland  lagoons,  and  farther,  by  fresh-water 
rills  to  chains  of  lakes  where  low,  gnarled  oaks  fished 
with  copper  fingers  for  big-leaved  lilies,  large  and 

S)lden-hearted  as  the  Oriental  lotos.  All  these  things 
rchid  described  to  his  lordship  as  they  drifted  in 
among  sand-banks  where  the  first  signs  of  human  life 
are  junks  hauled  up  off  Osterville  like  drying  herrings, 
and  out  again  by  long,  low  necks,  and  headlands  lifting 
sleepily,  as  of  indifferent  sea-serpents  swimming  off 
lazily  toward  the  focus  of  Monomoy  Point  light.  Black 
iron  craft  from  Philadelphia,  laden  with  coal  for  Boston, 
felt  cautious  footing  among  submerged  shoals;  then 


PASSING    OF    THE    ANGLO-SAXON     197 

suddenly  swung  around  joyously  into  the  determined 
blue  of  a  deeper  sea  that  swept  them,  dipping  and 
careening,  up  toward  Provincetown. 

Now  swinging  into  the  teeth  of  a  rising  wind,  the 
"Burlington"  cut  angles  of  flying  foam  from  the  rush- 
ing tide  that  has  severed  Ponkatuck  from  Nantucket's 
western  cape,  and  so  up  past  Cresset  Hock  where  gulls 
were  weaving  invisible  webs  from  crag  to  crag,  and 
around  by  the  one  little  roadstead  of  Pollock's  Bar,  just 
in  time  to  accept  a  silent  benediction  from  the  sun,  now 
sinking  somewhere  behind  Point  Judith. 

As  Van  dressed  for  dinner,  he  congratulated  himself 
upon  his  tact  and  reserve  during  the  day.  He  had 
frankly  enjoyed  himself,  as  all  had  done.  There  had  been 
no  recurrence  to  serious  topics,  and  Orchid  had  neither 
courted  nor  neglected  him.  He  knew  that  the  real  test 
of  the  visit,  were  one  to  be,  must  come  during  the 
approaching  dinner. 

And,  indeed,  it  was  a  dinner  that  night  which  added 
fresh  laurels  to  Orchid's  long  series  of  social  and  culi- 
nary triumphs.  The  room  was  hung  throughout  in  white 
and  pale  green.  The  china,  Bellek  ware,  so  far  as  it 
could  be  obtained,  was  supplemented  by  thin  white 
Haviland,  strewn  with  tiny  branches  of  maiden-hair 
fern.  The  silver  was  enamelled  in  white  and  emerald. 
In  the  centre  of  the  table  lay  a  long,  flat,  sparkling  glass 
dish,  the  borders  half  hidden  under  a  wreath  of  maiden- 
hair fern  and  white  orchids.  Above  it  hung  a  great 
pointed  censer,  or  net,  of  crystal  and  silver,  filled  loosely 
with  masses  of  ice,  from  which  the  water  dripped  tink- 
ling into  the  shallow  bowl,  and  radiated  small  refreshing 
sprays  to  the  nodding  flowers.  The  candelabra,  stand- 
ing stiff  and  tall  at  each  corner  of  the  table,  and  hanging 
everywhere  in  sconces  on  the  wall,  gleamed  in  surfaces 
of  solid  or  carved  silver;  but  the  massed  tapers  were 
stained  the  color  of  freshly  powdered  Japanese  tea. 
Orchid  was  herself  arrayed  in  white,  silver,  and  green,  a 
single  enormous  emerald,  set  on  a  narrow  fillet  of  silver, 
burning  above  her  brow. 


198  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Van,  exhilarated  by  the  day's  experience,  the  wine  of 
blue  distilled  air,  felt  as  restless  as  a  pawing  racer  held 
in  leash.  His  lordship  settled  down  to  the  business  of 
eating  with  the  ponderous  purr  of  a  pampered  lion,  well 
worth  watching  in  spite  of  his  apparent  sleepiness.  Or- 
chid was  ready,  as  an  alert  fly,  to  lead,  goad,  or  bewilder, 
as  the  combatants  might  need. 

Much  to  the  surprise  of  all,  it  was  Tom  that  opened 
the  ball. 

"  You  Canadian  Pacifies  will  have  to  join  us  in  that 
Southeastern  connection  through  Kansas  City,  mullord. 
We  '11  have  the  West  Indies  before  five  years,  —  see  if 
we  don't !  —  and  then  you  can  issue  through  bills  from 
Havana  to  Hong  Kong." 

Lord  Gayrock,  immersed  in  his  soup,  took  a  new,  de- 
liberate spoonful,  before  replying,  in  a  tone  that  settled 
things,  — 

"  We  '11  wait  for  the  Nicaragua  Canal !  " 

Orchid  began  to  sparkle  with  anticipation.  "  What  de- 
light," she  cried,  "  to  hear  you  diplomats  talk  as  if  all 
the  world  were  one  !  In  your  presence,  my  lord,  we  feel 
the  live  blood  flowing  between  England  and  America. 
Don't  we,  Mr.  Craighead?" 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  You  talk  as  if  Great  Britain  were  going  to  make  and 
hold  the  Nicaragua  Canal,  Lord  Gayrock !  "  blurted  out 
Van  at  last.  "  I  thought  it  was  planned  for  the  conven- 
ience of  the  United  States  navy." 

Lord  Gayrock  looked  up  slowly  and  pityingly.  No 
doubt  he  had  heard  of  the  United  States  navy,  and  was 
genuinely  sorry  for  it. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  began  in  the  tone  in  which  one 
soothes  a  child;  "but  I  fear  that  I  see  in  you,  Mr. 
Craighead,  just  that  unfriendliness  toward  us  that  is 
withdrawing  our  interest  —  and  our  capital  —  from  your 
clever  enterprises." 

"  There  is  still  much  left,"  said  Van. 

"  But  expansion,  commercial  expansion  !  "  insisted  his 
lordship.  "  Commerce  must  grow,  and  you  wish  no 


PASSING   OF    THE    ANGLO-SAXON     199 

rivalry  or  participation.  Even  your  large-minded  Presi- 
dent was  —  aw  —  unsympathetic  —  about  Venezuela  !  " 

"  Venezuela !  "  echoed  Van,  with  a  flashing  look  that 
was  more  hostile  than  he  realized. 

Lord  Gayrock  reddened  slightly.  "  Yes.  All  we  re- 
quired, or  require,  is  fair  play  and  friendly  feeling." 

"  We  have  tried  those  more  than  once,  and  what  has 
been  the  reward?  I  answer,  rudely  perhaps,  —  intrigue  I 
Why,  my  lord,  you  are  bidding  for  Central  America  now, 
flirting  with  Hawaii,  exchanging  notes  with  Spain,  —  and 
hugging  Alaska  closer  1 " 

The  British  lion  was  just  teased  enough  to  growl. 

"And  do  you  consider  America  free  from  taint  of 
political  intrigue?  The  pity  of  your  American  senti- 
mentalists over  the  sorrows  of  Cuba  and  the  wrongs  of 
Liliuokalani,  points,  I  greatly  suspect,  to  an  attempt  at 
dismembering  Spam's  ancient  colonies.  Spain  is  a  Eu- 
ropean, our  sister !  Shall  the  European  concert  remain 
indifferent  while  you  attempt  to  block  the  highways  of 
the  world?  A  congress  of  nations  shall  guarantee  the 
freedom  of  your  Southern  waters." 

He  shook  himself  like  a  great  Newfoundland  dog.  It 
was  Van's  turn  to  color. 

"  Hear !  hear  !  "  cried  Orchid,  merrily.  "  You  both 
are  right,  only  you  are  looking  through  different  sides 
of  the  same  pane  of  glass.  You  each  see  the  other,  and 
mistake  it  for  his  own  reflection  in  a  mirror.  After  all, 
we  are  one.  Why  don't  you  recognize  it,  and  have  all 
this  international  wrangling  over  ?  Then  you  can  calmly 
sit  down  on  one  bench,  like  good  children  with  a  plum 
tart,  and  divide  it  between  you." 

Van  smiled  and  nodded  in  her  direction ;  Lord  Gay- 
rock  looked  puzzled.  "A  —  plum  —  tart ! "  he  re- 
peated doubtfully.  "  Ah,  I  see  1  very  good,  —  very 
good  I " 

"  Then,"  she  cried  brightly,  as  she  lifted  her  glass  of 
Tokay,  "  the  question  is  settled,  and  I  drink  to  the  com- 
ing Anglo-Saxon  alliance." 

"  Not  so  fast,"  laughed  Craighead.     He  had  no  inten- 


200  TRUTH    DEXTER 

tion  of  shaking  paws  with  the  lion,  so  long  as  there  was 
a  convenient  tail  to  twist. 

"  Give  us  a  chance  first  to  try  our  new  policy  of  ex- 
pansion. We  are  better  off  alone.  We  are  outgrowing 
one-sided  arbitration  in  our  own  way.  McKinley  means 
Hawaii, — yes,  and  Cuba,  too.  Why  should  we  bind 
ourselves  to  the  rescuing  of  British  chestnuts,  — 
scraping  together  a  hasty  army  for  the  corralling  of 
Boers,  lassooing  of  Soudanese,  and  smoking  out  of  hill- 
tribes?  We  have  no  fleet  yet  to  send  to  Suez  and  the 
Dardanelles,  —  no  bombs  for  insurrectionary  Cretans." 

Orchid's  eyes  shone.  This  seemed  like  old  times. 
She  turned  to  Lord  Gayrock,  who  was  paying  attention 
to  nothing  but  a  plateful  of  jellied  turkey. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that,  my  lord  ?  Shall  we  lend 
you  a  few  smart  Yankee  ships  to  help  out  your  Mediter- 
ranean fleet  ?  " 

His  lordship  swallowed  his  third  chin.  Van  did  not 
wait. 

"  Yes,  look  to  your  fleets,  my  lord !  You  talk  of  the 
European  Concert  as  if  it  were  a  sub-committee  with  an 
Englishman  in  the  chair.  To  the  outside  world  it  may 
look  different.  England  has  so  many  hen-roosts  to  watch 
that  she  can't  see  where  the  fox  really  creeps.  You  are 
isolated.  It  is  no  longer  for  you  a  problem  of  expansion, 
but  of  a  defensive  struggle.  England  has  now  to  fight 
for  her  life  1 " 

Lord  Gayrock  gave  an  incredulous  start.  "  Fight, 
Mr.  Craighead !  Fight !  Why,  the  peace  of  Europe  has 
never  been  more  fully  assured.  The  balance  of  power 
was  never  more  complete  ! " 

Van  tossed  off  a  glass  of  champagne,  then  settled 
down  to  steady  work,  like  a  yacht  whose  every  stitch 
strains  conscious  to  the  buoyant  wind. 

"  European  kings,"  he  began  sententiously,  "  used  to 
play  at  war  according  to  brotherly  rules.  After  Napo- 
leon demolished  their  lead  soldiers,  England  floated  for 
them  a  Noah's  Ark  labelled  '  Balance  of  Power.'  But 
now,  since  with  the  weakness  of  Italy  and  Austria  the 


PASSING   OF    THE    ANGLO-SAXON     201 

'  Triple  Alliance  '  that  walled  apart  Russia  and  Franco, 
—  England's  mortal  foes,  —  has  crumbled,  these  malcon- 
tents, who  have  been  waiting  ever  since  Tilsit,  are  rush- 
ing together  like  two  hungry  gases.  With  their  definite 
alliance  opens  the  campaign  of  the  next  century.  I 
should  say  that  the  Balance  of  Power  had  sprung  sev- 
eral bad  leaks,  and  was  in  great  danger  of  sinking." 

Lord  Gayrock  smiled  a  withering  smile,  as  if  he  were 
dealing  with  a  small  boy  who  had  failed  in  his  Cate- 
chism. 

*'  We  have  been  on  the  point  of  collapsing,  I  believe, 
ever  since  Philip  despatched  the  Armada  !  " 

Van  colored. 

"  I  answer  you  with  one  black  word,  Lord  Gayrock, 
— '  Armenia  ! '  To-day,  should  Crete  explode  your 
powder-magazine,  Salisbury  dare  not  lift  a  ringer ! 
Remember,  I  prophesy  that !  " 

He  turned  away  with  irritating  confidence. 

Orchid  laughed.  "  But  Germany,  Van !  Are  n't 
you  forgetting  little  William  ?  " 

"  No ! "  he  answered  sharply,  without  looking  up. 
"  Germany  's  caught  in  a  vice.  *  Little  William  '  pre- 
tends that  he  is  the  tail  that  wags  the  dog.  But  who 
barks  ?  Her  merchants  are  jealous  of  England,  too. 
She  is  bound  to  have  colonies,  —  markets.  Think  of 
the  insult  to  England  of  William's  message  to  the  Boers  1 
Think  of  his  despicable  playing  of  Russia's  game  after 
the  China-Japan  war !  No,  I  tell  you,  he  has  been 
forced  to  throw  in  his  lot  with  the  Bear  and  the 
Frog ! " 

"  It  was  mean  of  them  to  force  those  plucky  little  Japs 
to  disgorge  Liautung,"  said  Orchid  with  spirit.  "  My 
lord,  I  cannot  understand  why  England  did  not  seize 
that  wonderful,  golden  opportunity  to  support  Japan, 
and  make  her  own  policy  dominant  at  Peking." 

Van  started,  and  gave  the  speaker  a  sudden,  surprised 
smile.  "  It  was  a  crime ! "  he  cried,  as  if  in  spite  of 
himself. 

Lord  Gayrock  looked  up  coldly. 


202  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  And  was  England  to  trust  that  ambitious,  cruel,  half- 
civilized  little  race  ?  As  for  Germany,  we  shall  see  !  Per- 
haps the  English  navy  is  strong  enough  to  take  care  of 
itself,  east  or  west,  no  matter  what  Germany  or  Japan 
may  do." 

"  But  that  is  admitting  what  I  said,"  retorted  Van. 
"  You  see  that  you  are  isolated." 

"  If  one  can  be  said  to  be  isolated  with  two  such  hench- 
men as  Canada  and  Australia,  I  presume  we  are  isolated," 
said  Lord  Gayrock,  indifferently.  He  seemed  to  be  weary- 
ing of  the  debate,  and  turned  for  relief  to  the  bright  eyes 
of  his  hostess. 

But  Orchid  was  alive  to  the  finger-tips  with  the  ques- 
tions at  issue. 

"  Yes,  you  have  Canada  and  Australia,"  she  said  ear- 
nestly, "  and  you  have  what  is  even  more,  —  the  respect 
of  the  world.  I  cannot  believe  that  you  will  lose  it. 
Only  —  do  not  underestimate  the  value  of  friendship. 
Suspicion  is  a  heavy  armor." 

Lord  Gayrock  looked  into  her  eager  face  with  a  smile 
that  was  very  genuine  and  sweet. 

"  If  there  were  more  American  women  like  you,  Mrs. 
Wiley,  —  friendship  would  be  demanded  on  other  grounds 
than  policy.  Your  keen  intuitions  more  than  cancel  the 
perverse  blindness  of  your  young  men.  The  flower  of 
American  civilization  is  woman,  —  and  of  the  sex  you 
are,  —  "  here  he  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips  with  a  courtly, 
old-world  gesture,  —  " '  Queen-Rose  of  the  garden.' " 

"  Oh,  Lord  Gayrock,  you  shouldn't"  Orchid  simpered, 
hanging  her  jewelled  head  with  an  affectation  of  shyness. 
A  blush,  exasperating  to  Van,  suffused  her  forehead. 
Tom  looked  both  flattered  and  alarmed.  Orchid  sent 
one  glance  upward  toward  Van's  cold  eyes,  and  then, 
dropping  her  head  again,  began  to  fidget  nervously  with 
her  rings. 

Who  threw  the  challenge  ?  Whose  glove  was  it  ? 
Van  did  not  know  or  care.  He  put  down  his  glass  with 
a  bang,  and  had  to  restrain  himself  from  rising,  as  if  to 
address  the  bench  at  a  critical  moment.  The  heat  of 


PASSING   OF    THE    ANGLO-SAXON     203 

his  resolve  might  have  melted  the  frozen  sweets  just  set 
before  him.  These  were  cast  in  the  form  of  green  and 
pink  lotos-flowers.  Pie  was  not  conscious  of  noticing 
them.  His  head  was  on  fire  with  ideas  that  shot  clear 
and  tapering  as  rockets.  He  hurled  them  full  in  the 
breast  of  his  vis-d-vis. 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  your  taste,  my  lord  I  "  His 
voice  rose  till  the  sentence  burst  at  the  tip.  "  Mrs.  Wiley 
is  the  most  wonderful  woman  in  the  world  — 

"  Except  Mrs.  Craighead,  of  course  ! "  giggled  Tom. 

Van  failed  to  hear  Mr.  Wiley's  innocent  remark,  and 
continued  without  a  quaver :  — 

"  Her  soul  is  a  search-light  projected  on  the  misty 
future.  It  is  you  English  who  are  blind.  She  sees  to 
the  core  of  the  problem  of  the  Liautung  Peninsula." 

Lord  Gayrock's  face  was  stony,  as  if  he  repelled  with 
indifference  the  shafts  of  a  mad  archer.  Orchid  was 
like  a  film  growing  incandescent  at  the  meeting  of  two 
polar  wires.  No  one  interrupted  Mr.  Craighead,  who 
gulped  down  another  glass  of  champagne,  and  con- 
tinued :  — 

"  It  is  a  question  of  colonies  and  commercial  expan- 
sion, God  knows,  —  what  else  does  any  one  fight  for  ? 
The  British  navy  may  be  the  greatest  fact  in  existence, 
but  what  of  that  if  obtuseness  reigns  at  the  Admiralty. 
Yet,  even  now  this  obtuseness  is  not  fatal.  The  attitude 
of  the  Kaiser  is  not  decisive.  The  future  is  yet  open,  and 
England  has  a  year  or  two  in  which  to  snatch  it,  —  and 
that,  too,  in  the  face  of  a  hostile  world." 

.  Utter  silence  followed  this  announcement.  Van  paused 
deliberately.  He  felt  that  he  had  caught  his  audience 
and  could  afford  to  hasten  slowly. 

"  But,"  he  said,  in  the  confident  tone  of  one  who  has 
recently  acquired  his  facts,  "  there  is  a  flaw,  —  a  flaw  in 
the  British  perception  of  things.  And  that  is  why  her 
glory  is  about  to  pass.  Like  Hannibal  tottering  on  the 
verge  of  world-dominion,  England  fails  to  recognize  the 
imminence  of  her  supreme  opportunity.  The  golden, 
pivotal  moment,  plastic  to  the  touch  of  a  dozen  master- 


204  TRUTH    DEXTER 

fates,  will  pass,  —  will  pass  unseized.  The  Lords  will 
hesitate,  Salisbury  will  cough  and  go  to  his  club.  Lon- 
don will  sleep  calmly  that  night.  But  incompetence  will 
have  burned  Fate's  seal  into  her  world !  A  year  later 
Britain  will  wake  up.  You  will  tear  your  hair.  You 
will  curse  your  present  leaders,  your  betrayers.  You 
will  fight  and  die,  like  men,  —  but  —  the  world  will 
belong  to  another !  " 

Lord  Gayrock's  face  remained  perfectly  grave.  He 
kept  his  eyes  upon  the  bunch  of  pale  green  grapes  from 
which  he  was  eating,  yet  somehow  no  one  doubted  that 
he  listened,  and  listened  attentively.  The  emotions  stir- 
ring under  the  dome  of  his  heavy  forehead  were  not  easy 
to  conjecture.  Perhaps  at  this  moment  the  English  lack 
of  humor  was  something  to  be  thankful  for. 

As  for  Orchid,  she  felt  just  a  twinge  of  social  appre- 
hension. Now  that  Van  was  aroused,  she  knew  not  to 
what  lengths  he  might  go.  Already  he  had  used  more 
than  one  brusque  sentence.  She  wished  to  hold  herself 
aloof  from  his  eloquence,  to  check,  to  direct,  to  combine ; 
but  she  was  fast  becoming  powerless  to  resist  the  tide 
he  was  arousing  in  her  soul.  These  were  the  questions 
they  two  alone  had  discussed  so  many,  many  times  before. 
She  did  not  see  the  bombast,  or  the  youthf  ulness ;  she 
only  heard  the  timbre  of  a  masterful  voice,  and  felt  the 
magnetism  of  flashing  eloquence.  Her  hand  lay  on  the 
table,  palm  upward,  involuntarily  stretched  toward  him. 
She  leaned  farther  to  the  left  than  she  knew,  waiting 
with  quivering  nostrils  for  a  clew  that  began  to  fire  the 
whole  east  for  her  as  a  dawn. 

Van  felt  himself  inspired.  Yet  he  was  conscious  of 
an  attempt  to  marshal  his  facts  coolly,  like  a  general 
whose  brain  clears  as  the  powder-smoke  thickens. 

"  Europe  is  like  the  Hoang  Ho,  that  bursts  its  banks, 
floods  provinces,  and  changes  its  course.  As  Rome 
sought  food  in  Mauritania,  and  the  Gothic  Teutons  in 
Rome,  so  do  our  nations  scour  the  world  to-day  for  colo- 
nies. A  torrent  of  French,  Germans,  Russians  and 
British  eddies  and  brawls  over  Africa,  Asia,  and  Micro- 


PASSING   OF    THE    ANGLO-SAXON     205 

nesia.  The  old  domestic  balance  of  power  has  burst. 
At  present  chaos  reigns.  Toward  what  new  lines  of 
outer  equilibrium  shall  the  tangled  currents  finally  seeth 
and  set?  Where  shall  the  new  meridians  be  drawn? 
That  is  the  supreme  problem  for  living  brains." 

He  leaned  back  for  breath.  This  time  Lord  Gayrock 
looked  up.  Orchid's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Craighead: 
Tom  stared  out  into  vacancy  with  a  sort  of  troubled, 
dull  excitement  No  one  thought  of  him,  —  the  honored 
guest. 

The  old  statesman  sighed.  He  did  not  resent  the  mo- 
mentary neglect,  but  he  sighed  for  the  youth,  the  uncal- 
culating  enthusiasms,  the  new  wine  of  thought  in  the  old 
bottles  of  convention,  which  could  never  be  his  again. 
Craighead  was  talking  to  himself  and  Orchid,  not  to 
outsiders,  —  this  the  Englishman  had  known  all  along. 
The  ardor  was  that  of  self-assertion,  of  definite  state- 
ment, —  not  of  polemics.  Neither  of  these  young  people 
cared  what  he  thought,  and  yet  he  was  so  much  wiser, 
so  much  more  experienced !  The  day  was  not  far  ahead 
when  Craighead  would  flush  at  the  recollection  of  this 
sophomoric  outburst.  This,  too,  Lord  Gayrock  knew. 
But,  even  so,  to  have  a  woman's  eyes  fixed  on  one  with 
such  a  look  — ! 

"  You  have  thought  deeply,"  said  he,  turning  to  Craig- 
head.  "  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  your  opinion  of  the 
problem." 

Craighead  was  flattered,  but  a  little  distrustful.  He 
scanned  his  questioner's  face  for  a  sneer  that  did  not 
exist. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Van ! "  Orchid  broke  in  impetuously. 
"Tell  us  how  it  seems  to  you.  What  is  the  way 
out?" 

"  Well,"  began  Craighead,  with  less  vehemence,  "  from 
my  point  of  view  Constantinople  is  a  dead  issue,  and  the 
Mediterranean  too  small  an  artery  for  the  commercial 
heart  of  the  world.  The  fibres  of  empires  are  wheat  and 
cloth  and  iron  and  coal  and  massed  labor.  In  less  than 
a  century  these  have  produced  Chicago  and  New  York. 


206  TRUTH   DEXTER 

In  less  than  another  the  Manchesters  and  Pittsburgs  of 
the  world  will  be  on  the  Yangtse  River.  It  is  for  this 
that  England  should  pre-empt,  or,  at  least,  protect  those 
matchless  sites.  And  in  doing  so  her  one  available  ally 
is  Japan.  This  small  empire  holds  the  future  in  her 
hand,  as  a  child  may  hold  a  seed,  and  she  alone  can 
plant  it.  It  may  be  an  easy  matter  to  knock  down  the 
child,  and  take  the  seed,  but  then,  where  will  be  the 
harvest  ?  " 

"I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Orchid.  "We  have 
talked  so  often —  Oh,  Lord  Gayrock,"  she  cried,  remem- 
bering herself  and  her  guest  all  at  once,  "  don't  you  see, 
too  ?  It  is  not  only  commerce  that  is  at  stake,  but  cul- 
ture. Think  of  a  united  world,  East  and  West,  each 
giving  its  heart  to  the  other !  Already  we  are  tinged 
with  the  art,  the  poetry,  the  philosophy  of  the  Orient, 
and  she  with  our  more  practical  ambitions.  It  must 
come  now,  —  soon,  —  before  I  am  an  old  woman  1  So, 
sir,  you  just  go  back  to  London  and  send  the  Mikado 
a  cable,  putting  your  whole  Asiatic  squadron  at  his 
disposal.  Then  indeed  will  I  drink  to  the  Anglo-Saxon 
alliance  I " 

She  lifted  her  glass  and  held  it  out  in  a  straight  line 
toward  the  statesman.  Her  face  was  more  intoxicating 
than  the  wine.  Then  she  turned  to  Van.  His  eyes 
were  gray  diamonds,  and  his  mouth  eloquent,  though 
the  lips  were  shut.  She  caught  her  breath,  faltered  an 
instant,  and  then  set  down  her  glass  with  an  unsteady 
hand. 

Lord  Gayrock  saw  it  all. 

"This  is  most  interesting,  my  dear  Mrs.  Wiley,"  he 
said  in  tones  that  were  a  little  cold,  "  but  I  fear  it  may 
be  a  trifle  impracticable,  er  —  visionary  —  if  you  will. 
Political  speculation,  especially  when  indulged  in  by 
your  charming  sex,  has  a  tendency  to  be  —  aw — vi- 
sionary ;  and  I  have  known  many  ladies  to  excite  them- 
selves needlessly  over  things  which,  in  their  very  nature, 
cannot  take  place.  Now  in  this  matter  of  Japan  the 
inherent  nature  of  the  race  renders  them  impossible  as 


PASSING   OF    THE    ANGLO-SAXON     207 

permanent  allies.  Our  own  colonists  in  Yokohama  and 
Kobe  give  the  worst  account  of  them.  Moreover,  we 
are  diplomatically  the  friend  of  China,  and  how  can  we 
be  expected  to  go  over  to  her  bitterest  enemy  ?  I  fear 
that  you  as  highly  overrate  Japan,  Mrs.  Wiley,  as  does 
your  young  friend  the  gravity  of  the  crisis." 

"  No,"  said  Orchid,  earnestly,  "  I  feel  that  you  are 
mistaken  in  both  assumptions.  I  have  a  cousin,  a 
practical  business  man,  who  has  just  returned  from  an 
Eastern  tour  of  investigation.  He  was  indignant  at  the 
attitude  of  the  average  English  merchant  in  the  open 
ports  of  Japan.  He  says  that  they  are  piqued  because 
they  cannot  cuff  and  bully  the  Japanese  as  they  can  the 
East  Indians,  or  the  Ceylonese,  or  any  of  those  effete 
races.  No,  the  Japanese  are  not  rag-babies,  they  are 


men 


r» 


"  Even  so,"  replied  his  lordship,  concessively,  "  they 
are  not  the  only  men.  There  are,  for  instance,  the 
Russians.  Japan  has  more  to  fear  from  them  than 
we." 

"And  I  suppose  you  would  let  brave,  plucky  Japan 
be  crushed  by  the  Russians  before  you  would  lift  a 
finger ! " 

"  Ah,  then,  it  is  merely  a  question  of  protecting  the 
dear  little  Japs !  "  remarked  the  great  man  with  voice 
and  eyeglass  elevated. 

But  Craighead  broke  in :  — 

"  It  is  a  question  of  protecting  yourself,  my  lord,  and 
against  these  very  Russians.  Do  you  think  that  Russia 
forced  Japan's  renunciation  with  no  ulterior  motive? 
She  intends  Port  Arthur  for  her  own,  for  the  terminus 
of  her  trans-Siberian  railway.  A  thousand  Russian  sol- 
diers a  month  are  passing  Suez.  Manchuria  will  be  cut 
.  off.  The  pitiable  weakness  of  China  is  now,  for  the  first 
time,  exposed.  Russia,  backed  by  Germany  and  France, 
has  but  to  demand  the  whole  peninsula,  and  it  will  be 
ceded,  —  ceded  in  spite  of  Japan  alone,  —  in  spite  of  Eng- 
land alone.  There  is  a  demand  and  cession  that  may 
come  perhaps  five  years  from  now,  perhaps  next  month. 


208  TRUTH    DEXTER 

But  why  not  now?  It  is  Russia's  opportune  moment. 
Japan  is  exhausted.  Anything  may  happen!" 

Lord  Gayrock  smiled. 

"  Well,  grant  that  Russia  is  to  have  Manchuria  and,  as 
a  compliment  to  our  hostess,  Japan  is  allowed  to  secure 
Corea ;  —  England  will  still  endure.  We  have  empire 
in  India  and  Africa  that  will  occupy  all  our  spare 
time.  Whatever  the  issue  in  the  Far  East,  our  trade 
with  the  Chinese  ports  will  remain  intact." 

But  here  Tom's  interests  were  touched.  "Don't  be 
too  sure  of  that,  my  lord ! "  he  cried  excitedly.  "  Your 
firms  in  Shanghai  are  raising  the  deuce  of  a  row  about 
what  they  call  American  and  German  aggression,  —  com- 
mercial aggression,  of  course.  I  should  n't  be  surprised 
if  this  was  what  Russia  had  been  up  to  all  the  time, 
shutting  up  those  rich  Chinese  ports  to  all  commerce 
but  her  own." 

Lord  Gayrock  looked  toward  his  host  with  twinkling 
eyes.  Craighead  laughed  aloud. 

" Tom,  you've  put  it  in  a  nutshell." 

"  Yes,  Russia  means  a  regular  down-east  freeze-out," 
repeated  Tom,  much  pleased  with  his  own  acuteness. 

All  laughed,  and  then  one  of  those  curious  silences 
that  seem  to  come  from  nowhere  fell  on  the  little  group. 
Each  was  busy  with  his  own  thoughts. 

Orchid's  voice  began  in  a  whisper,  which  strengthened 
gradually,  giving  a  curious  effect  of  approach  from  a  great 
distance. 

"All  this  is  of  England,  and  Russia,  and  the  East. 
But  what  of  us,  —  what  of  America  ?  Are  not  our  inter- 
ests identical  with  those  of  England?  And  if  England 
hesitates,  shall  we,  too,  be  lost?  No,  I  cannot  believe 
it !  England  must  rouse  herself.  I  pin  my  faith  to  the 
Anglo-Saxon  alliance.  And  now  I  see  that  Japan  must 
be  included.  Japan  is  the  lithe,  sleepless  dragon  that 
fate  has  sent  to  keep  guard  over  the  enchanted  kingdom 
of  China." 

Van's  eyes  were  upon  hers.  Lord  Gayrock  saw  him- 
self again  forgotten.  From  under  his  bushy  eyebrows 


PASSING   OF   THE   ANGLO-SAXON     209 

he  looked  hard  at  the  two  young  faces,  Van's  alert  and 
excited  with  impersonal  issues,  Orchid's  more  alert,  more 
excited,  but  with  something  not  altogether  impersonal  in 
her  restless  glance.  She  seemed  almost  to  be  talking  for 
effect,  Lord  Gayrock  thought.  How  often  in  London 
drawing-rooms  had  he  seen  this  same  feverish  eagerness 
masked  under  the  phrases  of  political  debate,  —  the  little 
painted,  cork  ducks  of  national  discussion  set  out  in  front 
of  a  woman's  tent  of  rushes.  But  in  this  case  what  game 
was  sought?  These  two  seemed  very  close.  Yet  he  re- 
membered that  a  Mrs.  Craighead  had  been  alluded  to, 
and  certainly  there  was  a  "  Tom."  Van's  low,  vibrat- 
ing voice  broke  in  upon  his  reverie. 

"Yes,  Orchid,  what  of  us!  The  time  has  come  at 
last  when  we  may  dare  to  call  ourselves  an  empire.  In 
spite  of  the  hoodlums,  and  the  mugwumps,  and  the  sen- 
timentalists, we  are  an  empire,  and  we  must  grow.  With 
Cuba  and  perhaps  Hawaii  a  new  era  begins.  We  shall 
invest  great  capital  in  China.  We  shall  build  railroads 
while  the  engineers  of  other  nations  are  submitting  es- 
timates. All  the  manhood  in  us  shall  leap  to  protect 
our  commercial  freedom."  His  tone  had  taken  on  the 
confident,  compelling  ring  of  the  born  orator. 

"Mullord,  Mullord ! "  broke  in  Tom  suddenly,  his  face 
almost  purple,  "  back  Japan  with  your  British  fleet,  get 
your  concessions  from  China,  and  I  '11  guarantee  you 
now  a  syndicate  of  a  hundred  millions,  good  American 
dollars,  to  build  factories  and  railroads,  and  to  open 
mines ! " 

"  Tom,  you  're  my  friend !  "  cried  Van. 

"  Tom,  you  're  an  angel !  "  beamed  his  wife. 

Lord  Gayrock  smiled  and  gave  a  slight  bow,  but  said 
nothing.  He  was  still  watching  faces  from  under  his 
bushy  eyebrows. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Orchid,  with  a  sort  of  pent-up  vehemence, 
"  let  me  speak.  It  is  n't  all  mere  trade  and  commerce. 
Those  are  the  mere  dusty  highways  down  which  the  real 
civilization  must  come.  /  prophesy  a  rebirth  of  ideals  ; 
a  new  era  of  intellectual  splendor.  The  East  has  always 

14 


210  TRUTH   DEXTER 

been  the  cradle  of  art,  and  philosophy,  and  religion. 
Chinese  thought  and  literature  are  unworked  mines, 
richer  than  mountains  of  coal  and  copper.  All  we 
adore  in  Japan  is  of  China.  She  was  Japan's  sacred 
Hellas.  That  war  was  more  than  half  a  crusade,  an 
excuse  to  arouse  China  to  the  protection  of  her  own 
altars.  We  Westerners  are  beginning  already  to  starve 
for  ideals.  We  are  hardening  in  luxury,  growing  apa- 
thetic with  the  weight  of  satisfied  personalities.  And 
those  who  still  fret  and  fume  and  struggle,  —  what  is  it 
all  for  ?  Oh,  Van  !  this  is  what  we  need ;  this  is  what 
we  are  starving  for.  Do  you  remember  that  wonderful 
Chinese  poem  I  found  one  day,  which  says,  — 

'  The  lotos-seed  is  more  than  a  memory  in  the  dark  lake '  ? 

It  is  for  this  seed  that  we  must  search.  It  is  there.  I 
could  almost  lead  you  to  it.  I  could  —  I  could  dream 
the  way ! " 

Her  eyes  were  wide  and  starry  as  those  of  a  sibyl. 
Van  leaned,  steeping  his  soul  in  their  depths. 

Lord  Gayrock  set  down  his  glass  and  coughed.  In  a 
flash  Orchid  was  mere  solicitous  hostess  once  more. 

"  You  must  think  us  excitable,  my  lord,"  she  said  with 
conventional  lightness. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  as  the  others  rose,  made  a 
little  motion  toward  Craighead,  and  held  out  her  hand. 
The  young  man,  however,  barely  touched  it.  He  felt  at 
that  moment  that  he  could  not  endure  the  magnetism  of 
personal  contact.  Muttering  some  sort  of  an  excuse,  he 
hurried  away,  anywhere, — anywhere  out  of  that  intense 
atmosphere,  —  and  found  himself  soon  standing  amid  the 
cool  marble  spaces  of  moonlight. 

A  few  crickets  chirped  in  the  tall  grass.  A  faint 
splashing  of  waves  came  up  from  the  beach  below.  Van 
moved  mechanically,  and  for  the  third  time  that  day, 
toward  the  steps  that  led  to  the  foot  of  the  precipice. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HIGH-TIDE 

THE  ladder  shot  in  a  zigzag  downward  through  the 
chasm,  turning  as  many  giddy  corners  as  the  thoughts 
in  Van's  brain.  He  started  nervously  as  a  crag  thrust 
forth  the  giant  hand  of  its  shadow,  and  blotted  out 
the  phantom  steps  beneath.  Luckily  there  was  a  stout 
hand-rail. 

He  knew,  by  stumbling  against  some  tufts  of  dry  sea- 
weed, that  he  had  reached  bottom.  As  the  sands  slipped, 
with  a  musical  sigh,  under  his  feet,  the  moon  offered  him 
again  her  goblet  of  golden  nectar,  more  insidious,  after 
the  first  draught  of  calm,  than  all  the  bottled  sunshine 
of  Epernay.  Was  it  the  salt  in  the  air  that  sparkled  like 
diamond  dust  ? 

Do  what  he  would,  the  tumult  was  but  transferred 
from  the  lobby  of  the  castle  to  the  arena  of  all  space. 
The  heated  fancies  of  the  lighted  dining-room  rushed 
after  him  in  a  pack  of  panting  memories.  The  tension 
of  antagonism  was  stamped  upon  his  face.  Fragments 
of  misty  maps,  the  Mediterranean,  the  Yellow  Sea, 
whisked  up  from  dark  corners,  blurred  his  vision  for  a 
moment,  then  blew  off  mocking  over  the  living  water. 
The  little  fleet  of  yachts  nodded  and  whispered  together, 
dark  and  threatening  as  the  whole  British  navy. 

The  young  man  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and 
stared  about  him  desperately,  trying  to  take  in  all  the 
refreshing  coolness  of  the  objectively  real.  A  few 
rounded  rocks  lifted  themselves  from  the  flood-tide, 
like  observant  seals,  with  snouts  pressed  dark  against 
the  swell  of  the  burnished  waves.  Then  a  subtle  per- 
fume which  still  clung  to  his  left  sleeve  took  the  oppor- 
tunity to  paint  a  white  neck  in  the  moonlight,  and  burn 


TRUTH  DEXTER 

a  smile  across  the  face  above  it  that  came  and  hung 
painfully  near  to  his  lips. 

He  paced  a  length  of  beach,  and  swore  to  himself  that 
he  was  a  cool-headed  lawyer  from  Boston.  The  sandy 
floor  rocked  as  if  it  were  the  deck  of  a  steamer.  At  one 
side,  on  his  left,  the  charging  foam  swept  in  airy  curves, 
like  the  balancing-pole  of  a  tight-rope  dancer;  on  the 
other,  the  angular  silhouette  of  the  cliff  lay  as  if  stained 
into  the  long  ivory  panel. 

There  was  no  banishing  Orchid  from  such  a  mermaid 
frolic  ;  so  he  stopped,  and  deliberately  faced  the  thought 
of  her.  The  whole  evening,  with  its  circle  of  brilliant 
issues,  had  revolved  about  her.  She  had  neither  de- 
scended to  flattery  nor  yielded  to  it.  She  had  rung  true 
at  every  note. 

What  insight!  What  warmth  of  sympathy!  Her 
thought  had  flashed  ahead  of  his  like  a  search-light. 
What  a  pack  of  dummies  were  the  rest  of  the  world! 
Only  he  and  she  really  knew,  really  felt  the  intensity  of 
passing  issues  —  really  lived.  Oh,  to  be  with  her  at 
Peking  !  —  as  ambassador !  —  her  keen  intuition  pricking 
for  him  the  bubbles  of  rival  diplomacy,  dictating  terms 
of  reconstruction  to  the  coral-capped  Professors  of  the 
Hanlin  University ! 

The  sudden  lights  of  an  outward-bound  steamer  shot 
up  from  the  plane  of  the  sea.  The  throbs  of  submerged 
machinery  came  over  the  silence  like  the  beating  of  a 
human  heart.  The  great  hull  slid  by,  enamelled  in 
black  and  silver,  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away.  Whither  was  she  bound,  to  Liverpool  or  Havre  ? 
Tourists  crowded  her  cabins,  —  wealthy,  leisurely  tour- 
ists, —  some  blase  with  travel,  others  youthfully  eager 
for  London,  Italy,  Paris.  Paris !  What  was  there  about 
Paris  to  fill  his  throat  with  sudden  suffocation  ?  Truth ! 
Poor  little  Truth,  his  wife !  How  she  had  kissed  him 
at  the  last !  How  young,  how  sweet  she  was  !  But  the 
other.  Her  touch  alone  could  char  its  tokens  into  the 
palimpsest  of  his  soul. 

He  wheeled  about  sharply,  thinking  he  heard  a  voice 


HIGH-TIDE  213 

calling  from  above.     The  sea  drew  in  a  long  breath,  but 
there  was  no  other  sound. 

The  waves  had  crept  stealthily  higher  and  higher  up  the 
narrowing  beach,  but  the  shadow  of  the  cliff  still  eluded 
their  supple  fingers.  The  impulse  seized  Van  to  make 
himself  a  boy  again,  and  test  the  tide.  He  raised  with  his 
foot  a  redoubt  of  sand  a  few  inches  beyond  the  last  moist 
inroad  of  the  sea,  —  a  barrier  brave  and  invincible  as  the 
Chinese  wall,  —  and  waited.  A  horde  of  tiny  Tartars 
mounted  on  sea-horses  whose  manes  streamed  backward 
up  the  glittering  slope,  dashed  toward  him,  then  paused 
to  cast  their  circling  lariats  of  foam.  With  a  sound  as 
of  simultaneous  laughter  they  drew  back,  only  to  spur 
forward  again,  bolder,  this  time,  —  wheeling,  prancing, 
mano3uvring  in  the  light  of  the  moon-shield  above,  until, 
with  one  soft,  derisive  push,  they  silently  crumbled  his 
shining  bastions  into  a  series  of  melancholy  brown 
lumps. 

"  I  should  have  built  higher,"  he  muttered. 

This  time  the  noise  he  heard  was  unmistakable ;  no 
voice,  but  a  creaking  sound  on  the  ladder.  Before  turn- 
ing, he  knew  well  what  it  was,  and  for  one  mad  moment 
was  tempted  to  hide  himself  behind  the  rock-shadows  or 
hurl  himself  into  the  sea,  —  anything  rather  than  meet 
her  at  this  time  and  place.  But  she  must  have  seen  him. 
It  was  too  late. 

She  glided  down  the  ladder  (now  silvered  throughout 
its  entire  length),  with  feet  that  seemed  neither  to  move 
nor  touch,  and  flew  like  a  sheaf  of  concentrated  moon-rays 
across  the  yellow  sand.  Van  felt  something  of  the  terror 
of  a  charmed  bird.  He  did  not  speak  or  move. 

Her  left  hand  was  pressed  tightly  against  her  heart. 
She  paused  a  few  feet  before  him,  panting.  A  half-smile 
trembled  upon  her  parted  lips,  and  her  eyes  lifted  them- 
selves confidingly  to  his  face.  The  light  seemed  to  desert 
the  crouching  sea,  and  loose  itself  among  the  bronze  waves 
of  her  hair ;  the  single  emerald  above  her  brow  became  a 
burning-lens  for  the  jealous  soul  of  the  moon. 

Craighead  remained  motionless  and  silent.    A  shade,  as 


214  TRUTH    DEXTER 

of  pain,  crossed  the  upturned  face.  The  quick  breathing 
had  not  quite  subsided,  as  she  said,  — 

"Oh,  Van!  Why  did  you  run  away  from  me?  I 
could  n't  bear  to  let  you  go  back  in  the  morning  without 
a  word  to  tell  you  —  to  let  you  know  —  how  incomparable 
you  were  to-night !  " 

Still  he  did  not  speak,  but  his  breathing,  too,  began 
to  come  fast. 

"  It  was  a  revelation,  even  to  me.  To  you,  it  must 
have  been  self-coronation.  I  don't  wonder  —  that  after 
it  —  you  were  impelled  to  come  here,"  —  she  flung  one 
bare,  white  arm  out  in  the  direction  of  the  sea,  —  "  here, 
where  one  may  listen  to  the  soul  of  the  world  crooning 
to  itself." 

Craighead  threw  up  his  hand  with  a  gesture  as  if  to 
motion  her  back. 

"  How  did  you  dare  to  come,  Orchid  ?  It  was  not  wise. 
Let  us  return  now,  while  there  is  time  !  " 

"  Oh,  not  yet !  "  she  pleaded.    "  There  is  something  — " 

Suddenly  he  gave  a  little  cry  of  alarm,  and  caught  her 
up  sheer  from  the  ground.  A  thin  gray  lake  of  sea- water 
had  spread  around  them,  covering  him  to  the  knees.  He 
strode  up  some  yards  through  bits  of  hurrying  seaweed, 
and  refluent  rivulets  of  sand,  and  deposited  his  burden 
on  a  ridge  held  up  by  a  flat  crown  of  pebbles. 

Her  feet  were  unsteady  as  he  set  them  down.  He  was 
forced  to  keep  his  arm  around  her  for  a  moment.  The 
perfume  of  her  laces  stifled  him. 

"  How  sudden !  "  she  murmured.  "  I  did  not  realize 
that  danger  was  near.  And  you,  Van,  —  are  you  not 
wet?" 

"  My  head  envies  my  heels  that  dipping,"  said  Craig- 
head,  grimly. 

Orchid's  hand  was  still  crushed  against  her  heart,  and 
now  she  drooped  toward  him,  as  if  in  pain. 

"  I  am  —  faint,"  she  whispered. 

"  Orchid,"  said  the  man  in  tones  that  were  almost 
pleading,  "  as  soon  as  you  can  manage  to  walk,  let  us  go 
in !  I,  too,  am  unnerved  to-night.  I  am  not  myself." 


HIGH-TIDE  215 

"  You  are  more  yourself  than  you  have  ever  been  in  all 
your  life  before,"  came  Orchid's  low,  rich  voice.  "  That 
is  why  I  followed  you.  We  have  our  real  good-bye  to 
say  to-night." 

Craighead  groaned. 

"  I,  too,  am  at  my  best,"  she  went  on.  "  My  moods 
of  self-sacrifice  are  not  frequent.  You  had  better  take 
advantage  of  this  one.  I  tell  you  that  I  have  come  to 
give  you  up,  forever !  " 

A  medley  of  thoughts  rushed  into  Craighead's  brain. 
Suspicion,  relief,  hope,  mistrust,  sorrow,  credulity,  —  all 
came  warring  together,  like  actors  in  an  old  morality 
play.  Distrust  was  first  victor. 

"  There  is  no  need  that  I  can  see  for  theatrical  fare- 
wells," he  said  sullenly.  "  We  are  parted  clearly  enough 
as  it  is." 

"Are  we  parted?"  she  whispered,  and  leaned  over 
until  her  face  almost  touched  his. 

He  drew  back  and  shivered.  "  Let  it  be  as  you  say. 
Release  me,  Orchid,  for  you  know  your  power.  Does 
this  admission  satisfy  your  vanity?" 

"  It  may  satisfy  my  vanity,  but  not  my  wrongs,"  she 
said.  "Before  I  pledge  myself,  I  have  one  demand,— 
that  you  read  —  this."  She  flung  open  her  left  hand  that 
had  been  pressed  so  long  against  her  heart,  and  showed 
him  a  crumpled,  blue  letter.  With  a  faint  sense  of  sick- 
ness he  recognized  the  one  she  had  mailed  to  Dexterville, 
—  the  one  he  had  torn  in  halves,  and  returned  unread. 

"This  is  madness!"  he  cried.  "The  past  is  dead. 
Why  recall  it?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  dead.     Are  you  afraid  of  its  very  ghost  ?  " 

"Perhaps  I  am,  Orchid.  Throw  the  letter  into  the 
sea." 

"The  next  wave  would  bring  it  back.  No,  Van. 
Ghosts  can  be  exorcised  only  by  being  faced  and 
defied." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  began  to  pace  the  sand.  She 
followed  him  with  her  eyes.  He  came  back  presently 
and  stood  before  her. 


216  TRUTH   DEXTER 

"  Be  genuine,  Orchid !  Why  are  you  so  anxious  for 
me  to  do  a  thing  which  you  know  must  give  me  pain, 
and  can  be  of  benefit  to  no  one  ?  " 

She  rose  also,  and  gazed  frankly  into  his  troubled 
eyes,  as  she  answered, — 

"  We  both  speak  the  truth  to-night,  Van.  I  want  you 
to  read  it,  so  that  in  the  future  you  may  exonerate  me 
from  the  cruel  charges  you  have  made.  It  was  unfair  of 
you  to  take  my  telegram  for  cowardice.  '  Yes  '  and  '  No  ' 
do  not  divide  the  universe  between  them.  I  asked  the 
dear  Van  I  knew  to  wait  for  my  written  word.  Don't 
protest,  Van !  I  knew  it  came  too  late.  I  tell  you,  I 
am  prepared  to  give  you  up  to-night,  —  if  you  desire  it. 
But  I  want  you  to  know — you  ought  to  want  to  know 
—  what  I  was  really  capable  of.  You  misjudged  me, 
Van.  I  may  have  been  light,  vain,  theatrical,  to  all 
others,  but  not  to  you.  Oh,  Van,  do  not  refuse  me  1 
If  I  were  a  nobler  woman  I  might  destroy  it  unread,  as 
you  suggest;  but  perhaps  I  am  not  great  enough  for 
that.  I  have  borne  much,  and  I  will  bear  more,  but  — 
this  last  request !  —  in  justice,  Van  "  —  her  voice  began 
to  tremble  piteously,  —  "in  mercy  —  oh,  if  you  ever 
cared  for  me,  even  for  a  moment,  read,  read  what  I  wrote 
you  then  1 " 

She  covered  her  face  with  one  hand ;  the  other  still 
held  out  toward  Van  the  crumpled  letter. 

"  I  will  read  it.  Don't  sob  so,  —  I  cannot  bear  it ; 
this  is  against  my  reason  and  my  judgment,  but  I  will 
read  it." 

She  moved  away,  and  stood  motionless  at  the  water's 
edge,  gazing  out  over  the  uncertain  sea. 

Craighead  held  the  torn  pieces  at  such  a  slant  that  the 
moonlight  brought  into  distinctness  each  line  of  Orchid's 
bold  chirography.  His  heart  sank  as  he  read :  — 

"  Your  letter  is  here,  — against  my  lips,  against  my  heart.  Its 
cold  masterfulness  intoxicates  me.  The  Van  I  know  and  —  love 
smiles  behind  each  rigid  line.  The  fires  of  a  snow-crowned  vol- 
cano burn  deep !  I  can  trust  you,  Van.  You  are  generous.  You 


HIGH-TIDE  217 

cannot  expect  me  to  crowd  the  infinity  of  my  emotions  into  the 
one  useless  word  '  yes.' 

"  You  know  I  am  yours;  I  need  no  test.  But  the  night  of  that 
wonderful  evening  I  could  not  sleep.  Every  word  you  had  spoken, 
every  look  of  your  splendid  eyes,  each  touch  of  your  hand,  ran 
through  my  veins  again  and  again  in  reiterated  lines  of  fire.  How 
is  it  that  we  have  both  been  blind  so  long  ? 

"  But  you  are  right.  I  feel  myself  noble  in  spirit,  worthy  to  be 
your  mate  I  For  now,  when  the  fiercest  temptation  of  life  assails 
me,  I  think  first  only  of  you,  —  my  love,  my  King  !  You,  a  leader 
of  men,  —  I  must  not  spoil  your  shining  future.  I  repeat  all  I 
said.  I  will  give  you  every  proof  that  you,  in  your  nobility,  would 
ask.  And  this  is  my  greatest,  —  that  I  would  sacrifice  myself  for 
you.  I  am  only  a  weak,  loving,  trembling  woman,  dazzled  and 
drunken  by  visions  of  what  must  not  be.  My  whole  soul  leaps 
toward  you,  as  a  deer  from  a  burning  wood. 

"  Oh,  come  back  soon  to  me,  Van  1  We  have  reached  a  stage 
•where  things  must  be  spoken,  eye  to  eye,  and  heart  to  heart.  We 
have  such  a  great  work  to  do  together.  I  will  be  your  humble 
helper,  Van,  to  use  for  eye,  oracle,  or  scribe,  as  you  may  need.  I 
will  breathe  a  clear,  pure  blast  of  love  into  the  burning  focus  of 
your  ideals.  And  Tom  will  trust  us,  and  be  glad  for  us  to  work 
together. 

"  Poor  Tom  !  He  was  brought  home  to  me  to-day  unconscious, 
with  a  sudden  attack.  He  lies  in  the  next  room  with  his  doctors 
about  him.  It  is  his  second  shock.  Even  if  you  needed  me  this 
moment,  I  know  that  you  would  not  counsel  me  to  leave  him.  But 
there  is  no  thought  of  injustice  toward  him  in  our  love  for  each 
other, — I  know  that!  We  can  be  as  generous  to  him  as  he  is 
to  us. 

"  Oh,  Van  !  We  shall  have  wonderful  years  before  us,  all  the 
dearer,  all  the  more  useful,  because  of  their  restraint.  How  can 
I  wait  for  your  return !  Only  believe  that  I  am  yours  to  the  inner- 
most fibre  of  my  being,  and  to  all  eternity  !  " 

The  letter  fell  to  the  sand,  and  lay  there  like  a  shadow. 
Craighead  stared  at  it,  and  stared,  with  eyes  fixed  as  if 
in  death. 

The  slender,  averted  figure  by  the  sea,  wondering  at 
the  long  silence,  turned  and  saw  him.  She  drew  breath 
quickly,  hesitated,  then  ran  toward  him,  and  falling  on 
her  knees  in  the  sand,  gazed  up  into  his  rigid  face. 

«VanI  —  Van!" 

She  put  one  hand  out  toward  him,  as  a  child  might 
have  done,  and  tried  to  bend  his  gaze  to  hers. 


218  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Visions  of  that  last  evening  they  had  passed  together 
just  before  his  journey  South,  —  of  what  they  two  had 
suffered  since,  —  of  the  possible  dazzling  future  of  diplo- 
matic co-partnership  which  nothing  but  his  own  brutal 
injustice  had  destroyed,  bewildered  his  brain  with  their 
rapid  succession.  Truth's  miserable  misconception  of 
the  Simpson  case  contrasted  itself  with  Orchid's  tempt- 
ing picture.  Even  now,  why  might  it  not  be  possible  ? 
But  no,  even  at  this  instant  of  temptation,  the  human 
ecstasy  of  her  presence  showed  him  that  it  was  not 
possible,  —  that  it  never  could  have  been. 

Suddenly  he  shook  her  off  and  stood  upright. 

"  Orchid ! "  he  said,  in  a  low,  strained  voice  she  had 
never  heard  before,  "  if  this  that  you  have  forced  upon 
me  is  not  more  than  you  yourself  have  suffered,  then 
there  is  no  expiation  for  me  to  make  you  in  this  world. 
Perhaps  it  is  better  that  I  should  have  known.  I  was 
a  fool,  a  brute,  a  dissector  !  Yes,  we  had  no  thought  of 
wronging  Tom.  Let  us  believe  all  that  is  best  and 
noblest  of  ourselves!  But  the  past  is  irrevocable." 

She  had  risen  too,  and  stood  very  close  to  him,  erect, 
but  with  a  peculiar  swaying  motion,  like  that  of  a  frail, 
tall  lily  which  the  next  breath  must  lay  against  his 
heart.  Her  head  drooped,  and  her  voice  was  so  low  that 
he  had  to  bend  to  catch  the  words,  — 

"  Why  —  do  you  say  that  the  past  —  is  —  irrevo- 
cable?" 

He  struck  his  clenched  fist  against  the  air.  "  Orchid ! 
you  know !  What  use  is  there  for  self-torture  ?  I  have 
not  only  myself  to  think  of,  now  !  " 

She  threw  her  head  upward.  "  Yes  —  yes,  I  know ! " 
she  cried.  "  I  never  forget !  But  is  Tom  the  only  per- 
son supposed  to  be  capable  of  generosity  ?  " 

Van  fell  back  a  step.  His  face  showed  ghastly  in  the 
moonlight. 

"  Truth  !  "  he  stammered.  "  You  don't  mean  Truth  ! 
Why,  I  told  you  —  she  told  you  —  by  what  peculiar 
ties  of  honor  we  are  bound !  " 

"  And  is  that  pale,  cold  abstraction  you  call  your  wife 


HIGH-TIDE 

to  come  between  us  forever  ?  She  is  not  your  wife  ;  she 
is  an  interloper  !  What  has  she  to  do  with  us  ?  We  two 
belong  to  each  other  I  I  will  not  give  you  up !  never 
—  never  !  " 

Her  eyes  were  blazing  now,  her  whole  slight  figure 
electric  with  passion.  She  flung  herself  on  his  breast 
with  a  wonderful  cry.  For  one  desperate  moment  he 
tried  to  repel  her,  but  her  words  were  a  spring  flood,  her 
white  arms  osiers.  Her  broken  love-words  darted,  like 
flame,  against  the  flimsy  barriers  of  his  self-restraint. 
All  at  once  he  gave  way,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  I  have  no  words,"  he  said,  with  a  dry  sob  in  his 
voice.  "  Oh,  Orchid  !  Who  is  to  blame  for  this  ?  But 
it  is  the  last  —  our  farewell  —  forever !  " 

She  laughed  out  clear  in  the  moonlight.  "  Farewell ! 
This  is  only  the  beginning  !  Van,  kiss  me  !  You  have 
never  yet  kissed  me  ! " 

"  But  you  said  —  you  promised  —  " 

"  Kiss  me,  Van !     I  am  very  close  !  " 

The  blood  in  Craighead's  veins  was  fire.  Her  face, 
raised  to  his,  was  a  white,  fragrant  rose.  All  the  bliss 
that  might  have  been  his,  all,  now,  that  could  never  be, 
caught  him  up,  whirling,  in  its  central  heat. 

"  Orchid  I    Orchid  !    You  see  —  it  must  be  the  end  ! " 

She  said  nothing ;  only  strained  him  closer.  Her 
eyes  were  half  closed ;  her  lips  trembling.  He  let  his  fall 
nearer  and  nearer,  as  if  testing  himself,  as  if  measuring 
how  far  sanity  could  reach  into  madness. 

The  moon,  the  sea,  and  Orchid's  face  began  to  whirl 
round  in  one  streaming  circle  of  light.  The  warm, 
sweet  breath,  now  growing  a  little  frightened,  —  the 
lips,  quivering  with  all  that  unspoken  words  can  say,  — 
drew  nearer  —  nearer  —  nearer  — 

Then  the  two  faces  touched,  and  heaven  and  earth 
fell  away,  leaving  only  two  human  creatures  on  a  long, 
white  strip  of  sand  that  seemed  the  shivering  diameter 
of  eternity. 

In  another  moment  he  had  wrenched  himself  away, 
and  was  lost  in  black  shadows. 


220  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Orchid  stood  alone,  just  as  he  had  left  her.  The 
mocking  tide  lifted  itself  and  swirled  up  in  a  sweep  of 
white  that  almost  touched  her  white  feet,  then  ran  back, 
as  if  in  terror.  One  dark  cloud  pushed  aside  the  moon. 
Orchid  stretched  her  bare  arms  outward.  The  gesture 
had  the  dignity  of  an  invocation. 

But  the  next  wave  fell  short  1 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  DAWNING   OP  TRUTH 

BOSTON  is  stuffy  in  summer.  The  apartment  hotels  are 
closed  for  the  benefit  of  the  manager,  who  runs  a  side- 
show somewhere  down  on  the  south  coast.  The  streets 
of  the  Back  Bay  are  given  over  to  wild  Irish,  who  dis- 
port in  pairs,  of  dark  evenings,  exchanging  comments 
anent  the  social  frailties  upon  which  those  boarded-up 
windows  have,  until  recently,  transmitted  light.  The 
deserted  stone  steps  make  enviable  trysting-places.  The 
lonely  married  man,  toiling  to  earn  what  his  family  spend 
in  demi-toilettes  at  rustic  "hops,"  withdraws  to  more 
genial  down-town  hospitalities,  —  Young's,  or  perhaps 
Billy  Parks,  with  his  brace  of  "  Hinglish  "  mutton-chops, 
now,  alas  1  no  more. 

But  it  is  stuffy  enough,  at  best.  Along  the  narrow 
business  streets  the  shop  doors  hang  open,  and  panting 
tradesmen  loll  therein  clad  in  gauzy  jackets  that  apolo- 
gize for  the  horror  of  shirt-sleeves  ;  and  a  smell  of  musty 
boots,  or  of  half-melting  rubber-goods  greets  the  strag- 
gling explorer ;  while,  in  more  recondite  lanes,  the  hot 
effluvium  of  food  rises  from  basement  restaurants,  where 
dishes  of  grapes  and  spotty  peaches  still  attract  the  more 
epicurean  of  flies.  The  elevator  boy  in  your  office  build- 
ing sleeps  now  more  than  half  the  time,  until  you  are 
forced  to  wonder  how  he  spends  his  time  at  night ;  and, 
in  place  of  the  steady  flow,  toward  the  sign  on  your 
ground-glass  door,  of  ample  waistcoated  and  smiling 
clients,  your  profoundest  meditations  are  interrupted 
by  some  questionable  gentleman  with  dejected  collar, 
who  wants  you  to  get  him  out  of  a  police  scrape,  or 
lend  him  a  small  bill. 


222  TRUTH    DEXTER 

And  yet,  to  be  thoroughly  initiated,  there  is  a  death- 
less charm  in  this  kind  of  Bohemian,  "  undress "  life. 
Craighead  had  revelled  in  it  for  years.  The  current  of 
seasonable  sounds,  of  odors,  with  their  associated  ideas, 
circulated  properly  in  his  professional  blood.  It  was  one 
of  the  conditions  of  the  Boston  game,  parallel  to  Novem- 
ber blizzards  and  March  dust-storms.  Law-books,  there 
is  no  denying,  have,  about  the  last  of  August,  a  peculiar 
smell,  that  almost  brings  tears  to  the  eyes,  —  a  fact 
which,  doubtless,  was  as  well  known  to  Samuel  Adams 
and  James  Otis  in  the  good  old  days  when  the  little 
island  town  pastured  its  cows  upon  three  sleepy  hills. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  memory  of  Ponkatuck 
began  slowly  to  lose  its  keen  and  harassing  distinctness. 
Yet,  had  Norton  been  in  Boston,  instead  of  helping 
pretty  girls  to  land  cunners  off  Nahant  rocks,  a  wager 
might  safely  be  laid  that  he  would  have  noticed  a  change 
in  his  senior  partner.  It  was  not,  perhaps,  in  Van's  scru- 
pulous observance  of  hours,  nor  in  the  methodical  dili- 
gence with  which  he  filed  away  facts  in  the  pigeon-holes 
of  his  brain,  nor  yet  in  the  Spartan  sternness  with  which 
he  repulsed  the  electric  blandishments  of  Keith's.  It  was 
something  intangible,  a  manner,  a  tightening  of  lines 
under  the  moustache,  a  sort  of  subdued  and  calculated 
energy,  such  as  a  good  racer  might  feel  when  looking 
out  upon  a  long,  hard  course,  and  who  feels  exhilaration, 
rather  than  despair,  at  a  glimpse  of  the  far  goal. 

Perhaps  a  keen  observer  would  have  pondered  also 
upon  a  noticeable  restraint  in  situations  where  Van 
might,  justifiably,  have  kicked  over,  say,  a  waste-paper 
basket,  or  thrown  a  bill-holder  after  a  retreating  tramp. 
The  head  of  the  firm  was,  at  least,  more  economical  of 
adjectives.  He  no  longer  banged  open  the  door  of  morn- 
ings, or  stalked  in  with  the  threatening  proprietorship  of 
a  pirate  captain ;  nor  did  he  jerk  his  hat  upon  a  nail  as 
if  to  test  the  tenacity  of  its  screws.  That  shrewd  moral- 
ist, the  janitor,  must  have  puzzled  himself  to  guess  what 
unwonted  hap  could  have  befallen  Mr.  Craighead's  self- 
esteem. 


THE    DAWNING    OF   TRUTH 

But  changes  never  come  singly ;  and  there  was  another, 
an  important  one,  in  the  raw  material  that  Van  allowed 
himself  for  mental  digestion.  It  was  no  longer  the  great 
brown  tomes  of  reports  or  statistics  sleeping  familiarly 
under  layers  of  kindred  dust ;  it  was  the  latest  diplomatic 
reviews,  government  books,  "  blue,"  yellow,  green,  and  all 
other  colors  of  the  rainbow ;  consular  reports,  especially 
English  ones ;  records  of  courts,  notably  East  Indian,  and 
of  extra-territorial  jurisdiction,  Egypt,  China,  and  Japan ; 
all  of  these  and  more,  that  now  lay  in  professional  con- 
fusion upon  his  desk.  The  "  London  Times  "  arrived 
almost  daily,  also  the  "  Journal  des  D£bats  "  and  the 
"Berlin  Tageblatt;"  and,  after  due  time,  he  revelled 
weekly  in  the  "  North  China  News "  and  the  "  Japan 
Nail."  Gradually  he  acquired  the  habit  of  taking  these 
treasures  to  his  solitary  suite  at  the  Hanover,  where  he 
perused  them  far  into  the  night,  and  sometimes,  by 
preference,  during  the  day  also. 

Some  weeks  later,  Norton,  rushing  up  to  Boston  in  a 
spasm  of  conscientious  inquisitiveness,  caught  Van  un- 
locking the  Devonshire  Street  door.  Within,  a  mass  of 
fresh  mail,  which  had  been  slipped  through  the  narrow 
bronze  orifice,  fairly  littered  the  floor. 

The  packages  flew  like  spray  as  Norton  danced  in 
among  them. 

"  Hallo  !    What  on  earth  !     Been  starting  a  club  ?  " 

Van  smiled,  but  disdained  direct  reply.  He  gathered 
up  the  papers  carefully,  and,  as  they  tumbled  on  the 
desk,  asked :  — 

"  What  sort  of  pride  would  you  take,  Quincy,  in  hav- 
ing your  partner  Ambassador  Extraordinary  and  Minister 
Plenipotentiary  say  to  the  court  of  —  er  —  Siam  ?  The 
sign  would  read  '  Law  office  of  the  honorable,'  etc.,  etc., 
and  you  could  slip  in  under  the  '  honorable.' ' 

Norton  tilted  his  head  to  one  side  and  gazed  on  his 
partner  with  interest. 

" That's  the  game,  is  it?  Caught  it  at  Ponkatuck,  I 
guess." 

Craighead  reddened  slightly. 


TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  What  in  the  —  How  'd  you  know  I  'd  been  to 
Ponkatuck?" 

"  Oh,  the  wily  Orchid  only  wrote  it  to  three  of  her 
dearest  friends !  Besides,  it  was  in  all  the  society  papers. 
You  can't  expect  to  chum  with  an  ex-Minister  of  Eng- 
land and  —  er  —  the  most  dangerous  woman  in  America 
without  being  found  out." 

"I  merely  ran  down  over  a  Sunday  to  try  a  few 
polemics  with  old  Gayrock,"  he  explained  casually. 

"  Ah,  just  so  1 "  drawled  the  youth.  "  Saw  nothing 
of  the  lady,  of  course." 

Van  was  angered  to  feel  himself  reddening  still  more. 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  is  any  of  your  —  business  !  " 

For  some  reason  this  remark  threw  Norton  into  the 
highest  state  of  glee.  He  seated  himself  carefully  on  his 
desk,  threw  one  leg  over  the  other,  and  his  hat  in  the 
corner,  and  said,  in  a  soothing  tone :  — 

"  Well,  don't  get  so  huffy  about  it,  old  sport,  or  I  '11 
think  it  more  serious  than  it  is.  I  '11  bet  my  front  teeth 
she  played  you  off  against  old  slow-coach  1  Now,  honest, 
did  n't  she  ?  " 

Van  regarded  his  companion  with  slow  scorn. 

"Do  you  know,  Norton!  sometimes  I  am  forced  to 
regret  that  I  ever  took  you  in  — " 

"  Oh,  but  you  did  n't !  "  interposed  the  youth.  "  You 
never  will !  I  'm  much  more  likely  to  take  you  in ! " 

Craighead  turned  to  the  window  to  hide  a  most  unwill- 
ing grin. 

"  Change  the  subject,"  he  said  shortly.  "  This  one 
is  n't  safe  to  joke  about." 

"  Oh,  it 's  safe  enough  now,"  said  Norton,  innocently. 
"  She  and  Tom  are  out  West  with  Lord  Gayrock,  you 
know." 

Craighead  wheeled  about. 

"  Out  West !  —  I  had  n't  heard.  How  long  will  they 
be  away  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  telling !  They  've  gone  to  look  at  lands,  I 
believe.  Special  car,  champagne,  flowers,  arid  all  that !  " 

"  It  will  be  a  good  thing  for  Tom,"  said  Van  in  more 


THE    DAWNING    OF    TRUTH 

normal  tones.  "I  have  no  doubt  that  the  trip  will 
mean  for  him  enormous  English  investments  in  West- 
ern stocks." 

"  And  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  trip  will  mean 
for  Orchid  enormous  personal  investments  in  English 
social  stock.  Bet  she  goes  to  London  for  a  season, 
after  this ! " 

Van  muttered  something  that  sounded  like,  "  Wish 
to  God  she  would ! " 

"Speaking  of  London,  and  travel,  and  all  that, — 
what  do  you  hear  from  Mrs.  Craighead  ?     Is  n't  it  time 
she  was  thinking  of  coming  back  ?  " 

Craighead  glanced  up  quickly,  as  if  to  detect  a  hidden 
motive  in  the  inquiry,  but  the  boy's  face  wore  its  sweet- 
est, frankest  look. 

"I  do  not  expect  her  until  toward  the  end  of 
September." 

As  though  he  had  suspected  Van's  fleeting  doubt  of 
his  sincerity,  Norton  sprang  from  the  desk,  drew  his 
chair  near  his  companion,  and  said  in  earnest  tones :  — 

"  Do  you  know,  Van,  I  really  think  that  little  girl,  — 
pardon  me,  —  Mrs.  Craighead,  —  the  sweetest,  truest, 
loveliest  woman  I  have  ever  known  in  all  my  life.  It 
gives  me  a  pang  to  see  how  you  and  Mrs.  Adams  are 
bent  on  educating  her  out  of  all  her  delicious  crudities 
and  mistakes.  Her  voice, — "there  was  never  anything 
like  it  I  I  could  actually  sit  in  raptures  for  hours,  just 
to  hear  her  say  the  multiplication  table  1  " 

Craighead  laughed,  but  his  face  had  changed. 

"These  other  women,"  Norton  went  on,  "are  like 
hot-house  flowers  or  artificial  roses,  all  jumbled  up 
without  any  stems,  or  character,  or  individuality;  and 
she  is  like  a  beautiful  wild  lily  growing  beside  a  pool. 
You  see,  she  actually  makes  me  poetical!" 

He  laughed  at  himself,  but  his  voice  broke  slightly. 

"  Why,  Quin,  old  chap  1  I  believe  you  're  half  in 
love  with  her  I  " 

Norton  did  not  laugh  this  time.  His  young  eyes 
were  fine  and  true  as  they  looked  into  Van's. 

15 


226  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  It  won't  spoil  my  life,"  he  said  bravely.  "  I  'm  too 
young,  and  got  too  much  ginger  in  me  for  that.  But 
1 11  never  meet  another  woman  that  I  can  love  as  I 
could  have  loved  her !  " 

One  morning,  about  a  week  after  this  episode,  Craig- 
head  found  upon  his  bedroom  table  a  letter,  and  a  large, 
square  mailed  package,  both  from  Truth.  He  opened 
the  letter  first. 

"DEAR  MR.  CRAIGHEAD  "  [it  began], — " My  pictures  are  fin- 
ished at  last,  and  I  hasten  to  send  them  to  you  and  grandma.  Mrs. 
Adams  thinks  them  extremely  good,  but  I  know  they  are  entirely 
too  pretty  for  the  real  me.  I  wonder  if  you  will  like  them.  I 
saw  a  picture  in  the  Luxembourg  by  Bastien  le  Page  that  Mrs. 
Adams  says  you  think  is  like  my  '  type.'  It  is  a  very  ugly  peasant 
woman  sitting  on  the  ground.  There  is  a  very  famous  artist  here, 
—  I  cannot  I'emember  how  to  spell  his  name,  —  who  is  very  anxious 
to  do  my  portrait  in  oils.  Mrs.  Adams  says  that  this  is  a  very 
great  compliment  to  me,  and  she  thinks  I  ought  to  do  it,  but  I 
don't  think  I  shall.  He  is  a  Frenchman,  and  wears  his  beard  in 
two  ridiculous  little  inverted  pyramids  under  his  chin,  —  besides,  I 
don't  believe  I  could  keep  still  for  so  long.  We  are  going  to  take 
a  little  trip  to  Venice  in  spite  of  the  hot  weather.  Mrs.  Adams 
has  been  talking  about  it  and  showing  me  pictures,  until  now  I 
simply  must  go.  I  know  it  will  be  like  a  sea  fairy-palace  that 
rises  quietly  through  the  night  and  floats  on  the  water's  surface 
only  as  long  as  you  are  there,  and  when  you  leave  sinks  down 
again.  We  are  afraid  to  try  Florence  or  Rome  on  account  of 
the  fever.  We  are  still  in  Paris,  as  you  will  see.  I  am  having 
many  beautiful  dresses  made,  but  I  should  not  get  so  many  if  it 
wasn't  for  Mrs.  Adams.  I  fear  she  is  going  to  try  to  force  me  to 
go  out  a  great  deal  next  winter,  but  I  hope  that  you  will  take  my 
part,  and  not  hers.  She  is  so  good  and  kind,  though !  It  seems 
impossible  that  she  is  not  my  own  blood-kin.  How  I  wish  we 
could  have  a  quiet  little  home  in  the  suburbs !  A  hotel  is  only  an 
imitation  home,  after  all.  I  am  thinking  now  of  taking  painting 
lessons  when  I  get  back.  I  reckon  I  'm  too  old  to  do  anything 
great,  but  I  should  like  to  try.  We  expect  to  sail  from  Liverpool 
three  weeks  from  to-day.  In  London  we  shall  try  to  get  rooms 
near  Westminster  Abbey.  I  feel  that  the  Poets'  Corner  is  going 
to  be  the  core  of  the  world  to  me.  I  have  wished  for  you  very 
often,  and  grandma,  too.  Your  letters  are  always  a  great  delight. 
I  wish  I  could  write  you  more  entertainingly  of  our  enjoyment,  but 
I  am  waiting  to  tell  you  in  person.  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  get 
back  again.  I  hope  you  will  like  the  photographs. 
Very  sincerely,  your  loving  wife, 

TRUTH." 


THE    DAWNING    OP    TRUTH 

Van  smiled  as  he  refolded  this  letter.  Then  his  face 
grew  grave,  and  he  sat  quite  still  for  some  moments, 
staring  into  vacancy.  He  was  thinking  of  what  Norton 
had  said  of  Truth  a  week  before.  He  gave  an  impatient 
sort  of  sigh,  lifted  the  square  package,  and  cut  the 
strings.  Opening  it  he  disclosed  two  large  photographs, 
each  in  its  envelope.  He  took  out  one  at  random. 

A  radiant,  fin  de  siecle  Parisian  beauty  smiled  into  his 
eyes.  It  was  Truth,  —  and  yet  not  Truth.  Where  had 
she  learned  that  smile,  that  provoking,  coquettisli  tilt  to 
the  head?  He  suddenly  recalled  a  fleeting  glance  she 
had  given  him  on  the  beach  at  Mississippi  Sound.  That 
Truth  had  seemed  long  vanished.  Doubtless  the  dress, 
a  creation  in  white  and  black  gauze,  had  something  to 
do  with  the  airy  unreality  of  the  picture.  On  the  fluffy 
blond  head  was  perched  a  hat  of  broad  and  curving 
white  lines  surmounted  by  a  cascade  of  black  plumes. 
The  brilliant  eyes  were  overflowing  with  fun,  the  lips 
had  caught  all  the  cupids  of  mischief  in  their  dimpled 
corners.  A  bewitching,  Bohemian,  irresistible  face  it 
was, — a  thing  of  sunshine  and  flowers.  It  would  be 
worth  a  man's  whole  life  to  keep  those  sweet  lips  for- 
ever smiling,  —  those  clear  eyes  unprofaned  by  tears. 
He  looked  long  at  the  picture,  and  one  would  have  said 
that  he  scarcely  breathed.  He  placed  the  photograph 
upright  against  a  pile  of  law-books  on  the  table,  and 
slowly  opened  the  second  envelope. 

If  the  first  had  been  a  surprise,  this  was  a  revelation. 
The  one  had  drawn  his  unwary  soul  outward,  the  other 
flung  it  back,  cowering,  upon  itself.  It  was  merely  the 
head  and  throat  of  a  very  young  girl.  The  scant  drapery 
about  the  shoulders  was  lost  in  a  play  of  shifting  cloud- 
shadows.  The  picture  seemed  the  crystallization  of  a 
mood,  an  expression,  rather  than  the  mere  delineation  of 
a  human  face.  The  cheek  was  turned  slightly  aside  and 
upward,  in  the  pose  of  Le  Page's  Jeanne  d'Arc;  the 
light,  straight  hair  streamed  backward  like  wind-smitten 
flame ;  the  great  eyes,  upturned,  were  gazing,  unterrified, 
into  the  face,  it  seemed,  of  Death  itself ;  and  the  child- 


TRUTH   DEXTER 

ish  lips  were  parted  as  if  whispering  to  that  awful 
visitor.  The  very  splendor  of  this  woman's  soul  exag- 
gerated her  evident  youth.  So  might  the  Maid  of  Or- 
leans have  looked  as  she  rode  into  battle,  or  some  virgin 
martyr  before  the  last  spring  of  the  panther.  Craighead 
sat  staring  at  it  until  its  pathetic  nobility  became  almost 
unbearable.  He  resented  the  fact  that  any  man  but  he 
should  have  seen  that  look  on  his  wife's  face.  In  some 
strange  way  he  resented  the  look  itself.  Perhaps  it  was 
too  permanent  a  witness  to  her  capacity  for  love  and 
suffering. 

He  placed  the  Parisian  photograph  on  the  mantel  of 
the  drawing-room,  but  the  other  was  set  on  a  little  table 
beside  his  bed. 

Norton  was  now  back  from  Nahant,  working  at  the 
office  with  a  steadiness  that  showed  his  determination 
to  make  up  for  lost  time.  He  was  at  the  Hanover  a 
few  evenings  after  the  arrival  of  the  photographs,  and, 
entering  the  drawing-room,  gave  a  quick  exclamation 
and  hurried  to  the  mantel.  Craighead  watched  him 
with  curiosity  that  had  just  a  little  cruelty  in  it.  At 
first  the  young  man  did  not  speak,  only  gazed  hungrily 
upon  the  pictured  face.  Then  he  shook  his  head  jerkily 
from  side  to  side  as  if  in  gesticulative  argument  with 
some  unseen  adversary,  and  at  last  burst  out :  — 

"  Don't  tell  me  that 's  not  the  loveliest  woman  God 
ever  made ! " 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  telling  you  so,"  laughed  Van. 
"  It  is  a  rather  stunning  Paris  frock,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Frock ! "  exclaimed  the  junior  partner  in  scorn. 
"What's  'frock'  got  to  do  with  it?  She'd  be  an 
angel  in  corn  sacking !  " 

Old  Craighead,  too,  turned  up  one  fine  afternoon. 
He  sat  in  a  chair  directly  opposite  the  mantel,  and  his 
keen  eyes  wandered  furtively  from  time  to  time  toward 
the  new  picture ;  but  feeling  assured  that  his  son  was 
expecting  some  comment,  he  doggedly  avoided  the  sub- 
ject, and  restricted  his  utterance  principally  to  sullen 
grunts. 


THE    DAWNING    OF    TRUTH         229 

The  avoidance  was  so  obvious  that  the  younger  Craig- 
head's  patience  gave  way.  He  took  the  photograph  from 
its  place,  and,  offering  it  to  his  father,  said,  u  Here  's  a 
picture  of  Truth,  taken  in  Paris." 

The  old  man  held  it  much  as  St.  Anthony  might  have 
done,  had  Parisian  photographs  been  known  in  his  day, 
then  carefully  put  it  back,  screwed  his  upper  lip  to  the 
left,  and  remarked  :  — 

"  Gewgaws  and  fripperies  dew  make  a  sight  o'  differ- 
ence in  women." 

"  I  don't  think  that  it  is  all  the  effect  of  '  frippery,' " 
said  Van.  "  You  must  see  how  she  is  improving." 

"  You  can't  always  sometimes  tell ! "  reiterated  the 
old  man  with  obstinacy.  "  Them  Paris  women  are 
great  on  makin'-up.  I  know  'em !  " 

"I  have  another  picture.  Wait  a  moment."  A  sud- 
den desire  had  flashed  into  Van's  mind  to  see  what  this 
hard  old  philosopher  would  think  of  the  other  study  of 
Truth's  face.  He  went  into  his  dressing-room  to  get  it. 

On  receiving  this,  the  old  man  made  no  pretence  of 
indifference.  He  took  it  to  the  strong  light  of  a  window, 
and  scrutinized  it  long.  Then  he  returned  to  the  mantel, 
placed  it  beside  the  other  picture,  and  studied  them  both. 
The  son  could  make  nothing  of  his  face. 

"Well?"  he  inquired  impatiently. 

"  Well !  "  echoed  the  old  man,  sarcastically.  He 
turned  about,  stopped  squarely  before  his  son,  fixed  his 
hard,  bright  old  eyes  on  those  of  Van,  and  said :  — 

"Van  der  Weyde,  ye'd  better  keep  that  last  picter 
handy.  It'll  do  ye  good!"  Without  another  word 
he  picked  up  his  hat  and  left  the  room. 

One  phrase  in  Truth's  letter  kept  recurring  to  Van 
with  irritating  frequency.  "  How  I  wish  we  could  have 
a  quiet  little  home  in  the  suburbs !  A  hotel  is  only  an 
imitation  home."  At  the  first  instant  of  reading  he  had 
realized  what  such  a  change  of  residence  might  mean  to 
a  child  still  homesick  for  her  trees  and  flowers  and  birds 
of  the  South.  He  made  a  slight,  though  honest,  effort  to 


230  TRUTH    DEXTER 

reason  himself  into  acquiescence  with  the  request,  but 
suburban  life  had  always  been  peculiarly  distasteful  to 
him.  Visions  of  time-tables,  rainy  nights,  snow-blocked 
streets,  sick  carriage  horses,  and  obstreperous  grooms 
rose  in  a  grimacing  swarm.  No  I  He  could  n't  do  it. 
It  was  too  much  of  a  sacrifice.  But  he  was  perfectly 
willing  to  make  some  compromise,  to  arrange  some  other 
pleasure  or  luxury  that  might  partly  atone  for  the  re- 
fusal of  this.  He  thought  of  a  diamond  necklace.  Most 
women  would  sell  their  souls  for  a  diamond  necklace. 
But  then  Truth  was  not  like  other  women ;  in  fact,  she 
was  not  yet  a  woman  at  all.  In  this  perplexity  he 
decided  to  consult  Norton. 

"  Look  here,  Quin,"  he  said,  "  Truth  —  Mrs.  Craig- 
head,  that  is  —  will  be  here  soon,  and  I  am  racking  my 
brains  to  think  of  some  pleasant  little  surprise  for  her." 

"  Flowers  1 " 

"  Oh,  those,  of  course !  But  I  mean  something  bigger 
and  more  permanent.  She  —  er  —  wanted  to  move  into 
the  suburbs,  and  have  a  house  of  our  own,  but  I  must 
confess  I  could  n't  bring  myself  to  it.  I  'm  away  from 
her  most  of  the  time  as  it  is,  and  I  would  like  even  less 
to  have  her  out  there  alone." 

Norton  dropped  his  head  to  his  hands.  "  Let  me 
think,"  he  said  slowly.  "  She 's  devoted  to  her  grand- 
mother, isn't  she,  and  often  quite  homesick?" 

"  I  believe  she  is." 

"  Then  why  not  bring  the  old  lady  up  to  meet  her  ?  " 

Van  slapped  his  knee.  "  The  very  thing  !  "  he  cried. 
"  Quin,  you  are  a  genius  !  Now  why  did  n't  I  think  of 
that?" 

"  Because  I  love  her  and  you  don't,"  thought  the  boy. 

All  through  Truth's  absence  Craighead  had  kept  up  a 
desultory  correspondence  with  the  grandmother  at  Dex- 
terville.  Truth's  letters  to  her  were  regularly  forwarded 
to  Boston,  but  always  with  the  request  to  return  as  soon 
as  read.  From  these  utterly  spontaneous  writings  Van 
had  gained  a  much  clearer  insight  into  the  girl's  rapid 
mental  development  than  he  could  ever  have  done  from 


THE    DAWNING    OF    TRUTH         231 

her  direct  epistles.  Sometimes  a  phrase  startled  him 
with  its  flashing  beauty  of  thought,  or  a  single  adjective 
stood  out  pure  and  inevitable,  as  the  scarlet  on  a  red- 
bird's  wing. 

As  for  Mrs.  Dexter's  letters,  they  were  exactly  like 
herself,  delicate,  old-fashioned,  and  pure.  Out  of  them 
her  sweet  thoughts  leaned  like  pale  flowers  from  a  stiff 
old  trellised  vine. 

On  receipt  of  Van's  hint  that  she  should  be  in  Boston 
to  meet  and  welcome  the  returning  loved  one,  she  sent, 
by  return  mail,  many  pages  of  pathetic  longings  and 
misty  negatives.  Her  letter  was  tremulous,  tearful,  — 
almost  like  a  prayer.  "  How  could  he  think  it  possible 
for  her,  an  old,  old  lady,  to  undertake  such  a  journey  ? 
And  how  could  she  leave  the  dear  old  place,  even  for  a 
week,  while  he  was  coolly  suggesting  that  she  spend  the 
coming  winter  in  the  North  ?  Yet  to  see  her  baby,  - 
her  darling,  —  and  so  much  sooner  than  she  could  have 
dared  to  hope  1 " 

"  She  will  come,"  said  Van,  smiling  to  himself,  "but  I 
shall  have  to  go  for  her."  In  both  statements  he  was 
right. 

It  was  almost  October.  The  Japanese  ivy  on  Trinity 
Church  was  turning  into  ruddy  bronze;  that  on  the 
Art  Museum  melting  jealously  into  the  terra-cotta  bas- 
reliefs  across  the  front  elevation.  The  Public  Garden 
gathered  twilight  mists  above  the  little  tea-cake  and 
lozenge-shaped  flower-beds,  and  the  swan-boats  had 
entered  upon  their  period  of  annual  hibernation. 

Van  had  ascertained  from  the  pompous  manager  of  the 
Hanover  that  he  could  secure  a  fifth  room  to  his  suite, 
a  pleasant,  desirable  room  with  a  little  outlook  upon  the 
park,  and  windows  where  the  low,  shy  Boston  sun 
would  be  forced,  in  spite  of  itself,  to  linger.  This  room 
he  now  ordered  to  be  furnished  in  perfect  tone  with 
the  others,  and,  when  he  had  seen  the  last  piece  of 
furniture  put  in  place,  started  South  to  ensnare  the 
new  occupant. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE   FIFTH   BOOM 

TRUTH  was  coming  1  Truth  would  be  here  to-day !  Mrs. 
Dexter  fluttered  about  the  strange  suite  of  rooms  like  a 
white  canary.  Her  trembling  hands  scarcely  dared  to 
adjust  the  slender  vases,  which  all  the  morning  she  had 
been  filling  with  flowers,  —  Southern  flowers  for  the 
most  part,  such  as  jasmine,  tea-roses,  and  early  camellias. 
Palms  and  ferns  rose  from  shadowy  corners,  and  the 
whole  place  had  taken  on  the  look  of  a  bridal  bower. 

Van,  smiling  to  himself,  followed  the  old  lady  about 
to  lift  for  her  the  heavier  ornaments.  He  felt  an  incredi- 
ble amount  of  excitement,  due,  he  assured  himself,  mainly 
to  sympathy  with  this  tender,  vibrating  mother-love, 
scarcely  able  to  contain  itself  behind  the  bars  of  the 
dilatory  hours. 

"  When  did  you  say  the  Cephalonia  would  be  in  ?  "  she 
inquired  for  the  sixth  time  that  morning. 

"  At  two,  —  at  two  exactly,"  replied  Van.  One  might 
have  thought  that  his  assurances  were  becoming  unjus- 
tifiably accurate,  as  if  the  "  Cunarder "  were  but  a 
"  shoreline  "  train  from  New  York.  But  he  added,  "  We 
have  just  got  a  wire  from  the  islands  that  she  is  outside, 
and  has  signalled  for  a  pilot." 

"  You  think  it  could  n't  possibly  get  in  before  two  ?  " 

Van  laughed.  "No,  she  will  hardly  get  up  to  the 
dock  ahead  of  time;  but  I  shall  go  down  about  one." 
He  was  to  go  alone,  for  Mrs.  Dexter  had  decided  not  to 
risk  the  strain  of  an  unexpected  meeting  before  strangers. 

"  What  a  silly  old  woman  you  must  think  me !  I  never 
expected  to  be  as  excited  as  this  in  all  my  life  again. 
But  Truthie,  —  she 's  so  much  to  me  — !  "  The  gentle 
voice  faltered. 


THE    FIFTH    ROOM  233 

u  Indeed  I  love  you  for  it !  "  cried  Van,  heartily.  "  I 
wish  to  be  included  in  every  thought." 

Mrs.  Dexter  laid  her  thin  hand  on  his  for  an  instant, 
and  lifted  soft  eyes  which  spoke  more  than  words. 

"The  flowers  are  pretty,  are  they  not?"  she  asked, 
after  a  little  pause.  ' '  Truthie  has  always  loved  them  so 
much.  I  tried  very  hard  to  find  a  few  blossoms  of  the 
magnolia.  Those  were  always  her  favorites." 

At  last  twelve  o'clock  struck.  Van  gave  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  Please  go  right  down  to  lunch  without  me,"  pleaded 
Mrs.  Dexter.  "  I  could  n't  eat  a  mouthful.  I  'm  too 
happy ! " 

"  Really  ?  Well  then,  good-bye !  I  sha'n't  come  up 
again  after  lunch.  If  the  boat 's  on  time  I  shall  have 
her  back  in  three  hours ;  but  don't  be  alarmed  if  we 
shouldn't  turn  up  before  dark." 

"  Remember  in  any  case  you  're  to  keep  my  secret. 
Don't  drop  the  faintest  hint,  —  she  's  very  quick  !  Re- 
member, you  promised  !  " 

"  You  may  rest  assured  that  she  shall  suspect  noth- 
ing," laughed  Van,  who,  from  the  first  had  acquiesced 
readily  in  the  humor  of  an  arrangement  that  could  never 
have  found  its  origin  in  him.  In  his  childhood's  home  a 
returning  traveller  would  have  been  welcomed  with  little 
more  preparation  than  if  he  had  stepped  down  to  the 
post-office  to  mail  a  letter. 

"  If  there  's  anything  you  want  just  ring  the  bell  for 
the  boy,"  he  said  as  a  last  injunction.  "  Good-bye  !  " 

"Good-bye,  and  God  bless  you!"  whispered  Mrs. 
Dexter. 

Left  to  herself,  the  old  lady  slowly  retraced  her  steps 
through  the  rooms.  The  pretty  suite  was  indeed  trans- 
formed by  her  tender  love.  She  circled  it  now,  giving  a 
last  touch  to  every  spray  of  flowers,  every  shining  leaf. 

With  all  comprehensive  care  she  stepped  from  the  par- 
lor into  Van's  bedroom  to  see  that  his  belongings  were 
in  as  perfect  order  as  Truth's  wifely  pride  could  possibly 
desire  ;  and  she  did  not  forget  to  set  a  little  bunch  of  vio- 


234  TRUTH    DEXTER 

lets  upon  his  chiffonnier,  as  Truth  had  been  accustomed 
to  do,  in  spring  days,  upon  her  grandfather's  desk. 

Deliberately  leaving  the  door  ajar  she  passed  into 
Truth's  little  bedroom,  glancing  about  with  a  more  than 
tender  light  in  her  soft  brown  eyes.  She  stooped  to  ad- 
just again,  to  the  fraction  of  an  inch,  the  embroidered 
counterpane,  and  the  choice  laces  upon  the  pillow,  sou- 
venirs of  her  own  bridal  days,  which,  long  packed  away 
in  antiquated  trunks,  had  been  brought  up  now  to  add 
sanctity  to  her  dear  one's  home-coming.  In  the  grate 
burned  a  cheerful  fire  of  cannel  coal,  for  the  days  were 
already  chill;  and  before  it  a  great  white  rug  of  some 
soft  Eastern  goat's-hair  held  a  pair  of  satin  slippers  lined 
with  eiderdown.  Around  the  wall  hung  photographs  of 
the  Big  House  and  grounds,  taken  to  Van's  order  by  a 
Montgomery  artist,  and  on  the  mantel  were  several  of 
Truth's  childhood's  treasures,  which  had  been  overlooked 
in  her  first  hegira.  Mrs.  Dexter's  eyes  travelled  slowly 
from  Truth's  room  to  that  of  Craighead's  and  back  again. 
She  sighed,  and  for  a  moment  pressed  her  forefinger 
sharply  against  her  pale  lips. 

The  next  was  the  fifth  room,  her  own.  A  yellow  bird 
hopped  and  sang  within  his  golden  cage  at  the  window,  a 
sort  of  vivification  of  the  sunshine  that  poured  through 
the  panes.  Mrs.  Dexter  stood  before  the  bright  hearth, 
gazing  into  Truth's  photograph,  which  occupied  the  centre 
of  the  mantel.  She  took  it  down  as  if  to  study  it  more 
carefully,  then  kissed  and  caressed  it  until  it  quivered 
and  blurred  under  the  joy  of  her  own  tears.  From  it  she 
raised  her  beautiful  eyes  to  her  husband's  pictured  face, 
which  hung  above,  and  the  tears  now  fell  down  suddenly 
to  the  cr£pe  at  her  breast. 

Replacing  the  photograph,  she  lowered  herself  stiffly 
to  her  knees  beside  a  chair  and  prayed,  —  prayed  long 
and  earnestly,  the  hope  and  sweet  light  of  anticipation 
on  her  face  changing  gradually  into  a  sort  of  terror.  Her 
rapidly  whispered  tones  became  semi-audible,  flinging  out 
impassioned  phrases,  as  a  frightened  child  throws  out  a 
shielding  arm.  "  If  I  am  weak,"  she  cried,  "  if  I  sin  in 


THE    FIFTH    ROOM  235 

being  cowardly,  dear  God,  look  into  my  tortured  heart 
and  see  what  I  endure  !  I  am  old  and  feeble.  I  must 
soon  pass  from  earth,  —  but  my  darling  is  so  young,  with 
all  her  lif e  before  her  1  Young  people  cannot  feel  things 
as  the  old.  It  is  not  right  that  they  should.  O  Father  1 
have  mercy  !  Show  me  the  right  way !  "  Her  head  was 
thrown  upward,  now,  and  her  face  twitched  in  suppressed 
agony.  Her  eyes  met  those  of  her  husband.  She  cow- 
ered a  little.  "  O  John,"  she  whispered,  "  help  me,  dear ! 
Ask  God  to  help  me !  If  I  have  done  what  you  would 
not  approve,  forgive  me !  She  is  all  that  we  have  on 
earth  ;  I  must  not  wrong  her  with  my  own  convictions ! 
At  least  let  to-day  be  hers !  Help  me  hide  it  from  her, 
John !  Be  with  us  in  this  meeting !  " 

Her  head  sank  to  the  chair,  and  she  remained  sobbing 
for  many  long  moments  ;  then,  little  by  little,  the  sweet 
calm  came  again. 

Craighead  waited  on  the  great  dock,  an  unimportant 
unit  in  a  mass  of  expectant,  shivering  humanity.  Occa- 
sionally the  sun  glimmered  through  Arctic  clouds ;  and 
green,  forbidding  water,  foul  with  rubbish,  slopped 
against  the  greener  piles  of  the  pier.  News  came  that 
the  ocean  wanderer  had  long  since  taken  her  pilot  far  out 
beyond  Great  Brewster,  and  was  now  leisurely  steaming 
up  the  Bay. 

Shortly  after  two,  eyes,  strained  to  catch  the  first  gray 
outline,  were  rewarded  by  the  dawning  of  a  dark  wedge 
between  misty  harbor  islands;  and,  a  few  moments 
later,  a  hoarse  whistle  only  just  preceded  the  looming 
growth  of  her  huge  black  hull  against  the  Winthrop 
headlands. 

Then  followed  the  usual  running  about  of  dock-hands 
and  the  uncoiling  of  ropes  right  under  the  impassive 
noses  of  Custom  House  officials  whose  stiff  insolence 
notified  a  smuggling  public  of  Uncle  Sam's  contempt 
for  the  effete  nations  of  the  outer  world. 

Van  saw  Judge  Adams  leading  a  group  of  friends  and 
relatives  through  the  crowd,  and  shrank  back  out  of 
sight.  It  was  not  his  purpose  to  welcome  Truth  as  one 


236  TRUTH    DEXTER 

of  a  committee.  He  searched  the  nearing  deck  with 
keen  eyes,  but  saw  only  a  confused  nutter  of  capes  and 
pocket-handkerchiefs  as  the  huge  machine  back-watered 
herself  into  broadside  passivity  to  the  gentle  persuasion 
of  the  tide. 

Where  was  Truth  ?  Perhaps  she  had  not  come,  after 
all !  Many  vigorous  young  women  leaned  over  the  rail, 
but  none  appeared  to  be  singling  him  out. 

The  white,  seething  water  boiled  up  and  shook  the 
pier  to  its  foundations.  The  "  Cephalonia's  "  quarter  had 
turned  away,  provokingly,  and  needed  the  argument  of 
a  pair  of  stout  cables  sent  her  by  a  dancing  dory. 

At  last  she  drew  up  slowly,  conquered,  along  the 
wharf  which  seemed  itself  to  move,  and  two  lines  of 
joyous  "  hurrahs  1 "  mingled  above  the  still  intervening 
gulf.  Gangways  were  adjusted,  and  the  crowd  began 
to  rush.  Craighead  hung  back.  He  smiled  a  little  in- 
credulously to  feel  his  heart  keeping  time  with  the  pant- 
ing of  the  engine.  Should  he  kiss  Truth  before  all  those 
people.  Would  she  be  disappointed  if  he  did  n't  ? 

He  made  his  way  slowly  toward  the  bridge,  but  before 
he  could  set  foot  upon  it,  saw  Mrs.  Adams's  portly  form 
dawn  at  the  upper  end.  She  was  flushed,  and  her 
honest  face  turned  backward  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
laughed  and  joked  with  the  chuckling  Judge.  Van 
recognized  several  intimate  friends  in  the  jam,  —  and,  a 
little  in  the  rear  of  the  others,  saw  Norton's  latest  Derby 
hat  bend  and  bow. 

Craighead  stood  motionless  and  watched  the  approach 
of  the  party  with  fascinated  eyes.  Was  that  indeed 
Truth  with  whom  Norton  was  speaking,  —  that  jaunty, 
golden-haired,  perfectly-attired  young  woman  ?  Yes,  for 
he  had  seen  her  before,  in  a  Parisian  photograph.  At 
the  time  he  had  thought  the  transcript  flattering.  He 
smiled  at  the  recollection. 

The  roses  in  her  cheeks  glowed  under  Norton's  eyes. 
That  young  person's  face  told  more  than  he  realized. 
Craighead  frowned  instinctively,  and  at  that  moment 
Truth  saw  him.  The  color  died,  and  he  could  see  her 


237 

hand  go  swiftly  to  her  heart.  Norton  looked  up  also 
and  saw  his  senior.  "Hullo!  Here  she  is!"  he  cried 
in  frankest  delight.  "You  were  nearly  too  late,  old 
man !  " 

The  little  party  crossed  the  bridge  and  clustered  about 
Craighead.  His  first  greeting  was  for  Mrs.  Adams. 
"  Out  with  you ! "  cried  that  beaming  matron  in  re- 
sponse to  his  amenities,  "  you  would  n't  know  the  differ- 
ence if  I  were  painted  blue.  You  have  eyes  only  for 
Truth !  "  Her  smile  challenged  congratulations  for  her 
charge. 

Van  hesitated  for  a  moment  with  an  awkwardness 
unusual  to  him. 

"  He 's  afraid  of  her  I  He  don't  know  who  it  is !  " 
declared  Norton  in  a  confidential  stage-whisper,  at  which 
all  laughed  and  felt  at  ease. 

"  Right  you  are,  Quin ! "  said  the  senior,  as  he  took 
Truth's  two  hands  in  his.  "  Are  you  sure  it  is  you, 
Truth,  and  not  some  fashion-plate  come  to  life?" 

Truth's  blushes  flowed  back  in  a  tide ;  she  stammered 
in  pretty  confusion.  "  Yes,  I  believe  it 's  me !  Mrs. 
Adams  says  it  is !  " 

To  extricate  Truth  from  the  bright  network  of  jests, 
smiles,  and  congratulations  (for  other  friends  were  ar- 
riving each  moment)  was  not  an  easy  task,  but  finally 
Van  accomplished  it  and  hurried  her  through  the  crowd 
toward  the  waiting  carriage. 

"  How  is  grandma  ?  "  was  her  first  eager  question,  as 
the  carriage  door  slammed  and  the  horses  started  over 
the  cobble-stones. 

"  Right  as  a  trivet !  But  —  do  you  know  —  you 
haven't  greeted  me  yet?" 

Truth  shrank  back,  and  in  an  embarrassed  and  fright- 
ened voice  faltered  out,  "  Everything  seems  so  —  strange 
just  at  first." 

Craighead  drew  himself  erect  and  maintained  a  hurt 
silence.  In  a  moment  he  felt  little  gloved  fingers  slipped 
into  his.  "  Don't  think  me  silly  or  ungrateful  I  I  am 
gladder  to  get  back  than  I  can  say,  and  I  used  to  think 


238  TRUTH   DEXTER 

of  you  all  the  time."  He  smiled  kindly  and  pressed  her 
hand,  but  did  not  offer  again  to  kiss  her. 

"  Have  you  been  hearing  from  grandma  often  ?  " 

"Yes,  quite  often." 

"  Oh,  it  was  good  of  you  to  write  to  her  1  But  you 
are  always  good." 

A  nervous  silence  fell  between  them.  They  had 
passed  now  the  rows  of  unsavory  warehouses,  and  streets 
grew  familiar.  Truth  peered  eagerly  from  the  window. 
"  Dear  old  Boston !  "  she  cried  fervently. 

Craighead  laughed.  "  Have  you  eyes  for  Boston  still  ? 
Most  Americans  leave  all  power  of  appreciation  in 
Paris." 

"  Why,  I  like  Boston  lots  better !  Paris  is  beautiful, 
of  course,  but  there 's  something  about  it  that  makes  me 
think  of  the  *  whited  sepulchre.'  Mrs.  Adams  used  to 
laugh  at  me  and  tell  me  that  I  was  n't  a  good  American, 
but  I  never  could  get  over  the  feeling.  Even  the  little 
horse-chestnut  trees  seemed  affected  and  unreal,  and  the 
people  in  the  streets  were  so  rude !  What  I  did  like, 
though,  were  the  suburbs,  —  St.  Cloud,  and  Fontaine- 
bleau,  and  —  " 

"  You  are  a  queer  little  thing,"  said  Van,  turning  to 
look  at  her  again.  Whatever  her  dislike  of  Paris,  its 
garments  evidently  clothed  her,  and  Van  found  it 
increasingly  difficult  to  reconcile  the  bewitching  vision 
beside  him  with  the  awkward  child  in  a  gingham  frock 
he  had  so  recently  known.  Truth  chattered  on  ner- 
vously. 

"  You  know  we  spent  most  of  our  time  in  Paris  going 
to  dressmakers,  and  shopping  in  the  funny  little  shops, 
for  Mrs.  Adams  would  n't  let  me  go  to  the  big  bazaars. 
Oh,  she  did  make  me  buy  such  loads  of  clothes  !  I  am 
afraid  they  will  cost  a  great  deal,  but  she  said  that  you 
said  for  me  to  have  them." 

"  Quite  right.  And  were  you  willing  to  leave  all  the 
attractions  of  dressmakers  and  shops  ?  " 

"  Yes,  because  grandma  wasn't  there,  and  — you." 

The  door  of  the  hotel  was  reached.     Truth  sprang  out 


THE    FIFTH   ROOM  239 

with  the  light  buoyancy  she  had  once  envied  in  another 
woman.  The  porters  stared,  not  believing  their  eyes. 
Van  and  his  wife  went  up  the  elevator  in  silence,  and 
in  silence  threaded  the  corridors ;  but  at  the  threshold  of 
their  own  apartments  Truth  wheeled  about  with  both 
hands  extended.  "  Do  you  know,  —  I  just  love  to  be 
back !  I  never  thought  a  hotel  could  feel  like  home,  but 
this  does  now ! "  As  the  door  flung  open  she  paused, 
gave  an  ecstatic  gasp,  and  rushed  like  a  bee  to  the  flowers. 

"  Oh,  the  dear,  precious  things !    Regular  home-flowers 
too  !     Roses,  and  jasmines,  and  even  camellias.     The  jas- 
mines are  exactly  like  those  that  run  up  our  gallery 
posts   at  home.     Precious   little  stars!     How  good, — 
how  sweet  of  you  to  think  of  this  welcome ! " 

She  clasped  her  hands ;  her  eyes  fairly  worshipped 
him.  She  trembled  and  hesitated,  as  though  about  to 
start  forward,  but  some  shy  reflex  of  thought  sent  her 
into  retreat  among  the  palms.  The  situation  was  a  trifle 
intoxicating. 

Van  cleared  his  throat.  "  You  —  er  —  give  me  too 
much  credit,  I  assure  you.  I  will  explain  later;  but 
now  there  is  a  matter  of  which  I  must  speak  at  once,  a 
new  arrangement,  a  proposed  addition  to  our  suite." 

The  light  died  out  of  Truth's  face.  He  might  have 
waited  a  little  while  before  forcing  her  into  a  common- 
place decision.  He  had  not  even  bidden  her  welcome. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  she  was  so  silly  in  the  carriage. 

Van  hastened  before  her  into  her  little  bedroom.  She 
followed  him  with  drooping  head  and  downcast  eyes. 
She  did  not  look  up  as  he  stopped  before  the  door  that 
had  always  been  locked,  and,  seizing  the  knob  somewhat 
noisily,  said  in  clear,  distinct  tones :  — 

"  This  door  leads  into  a  room  which  you  have  never 
seen,  a  fifth  room  to  our  suite,  excellent,  sunny,  and 
well-heated.  I  have  been  keeping  the  refusal  of  it  un- 
til your  arrival,  and  wish  you  now  to  decide  whether 
you  would  care  to  have  it  for  the  winter." 

Truth's  heart  grew  a  little  bitter.  This  certainly 
could  have  waited  ten  minutes  —  an  hour  —  even  a 


240  TRUTH    DEXTER 

day.  It  must  be  that  he  wished  to  have  no  senti- 
mental greetings,  and  took  this  way  of  avoiding  them. 
She  choked  down  her  disappointment  as  best  she  could 
and  answered,  quite  naturally,  "  What  do  you  think  we 
could  use  it  for  ?  " 

"  An  extra  room  soon  becomes  a  necessity.  You  spoke 
more  than  once  in  your  letters  of  taking  painting  and 
music  lessons.  This  would  make  an  ideal  studio." 

She  looked  up  for  the  first  time.  Had  he  been  plan- 
ning for  her,  after  all  ?  His  answerimg  smile  was  very 
sweet,  but  he  hurried  on. 

"  Yes,  it  could  either  be  a  studio  or  a  delightful  guest- 
chamber.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  grandma  were  to 
be  in  Boston." 

"  Grandma !  Oh,  if  I  only  thought  that  she  would 
come!  Do  you  think  she  really  might?  Have  you 
written  anything  about  it  ?  I  know  she  would  n't  come, 
but  only  the  thought  of  seeing  muinmie  here  — ! " 

With  one  quick  gesture  Van  threw  wide  the  door. 
Instead  of  the  cold  harshness  of  an  unused  room,  Truth 
caught  a  dazed  impression  of  sunlight,  flowers,  and  dainty 
furnishings.  Directly  opposite,  a  window  lifted  a  great 
shield  of  sunlight  against  the  soft  gloom.  A  strange 
sense  of  familiarity  shivered  through  her,  —  all  this  in 
an  instant. 

Then  she  gave  a  low  cry.  There  was  a  rush,  and 
she  was  on  her  knees  before  a  swaying  figure  in  the 
big  rocker.  Arms  were  outstretched,  silver  and  gold 
hair  mingled,  sobs,  hysterical  laughter,  broken  articu- 
lations scattered  like  blown  petals,  —  and  then  came 
a  great,  soul-satisfying  silence,  with  two  women  rock- 
ing and  clinging  together  as  if  they  would  never  part. 
Strange  lumps  rose  in  Van's  stiff  throat.  He  moved 
away  to  the  farthest  window. 

Truth  was  patting  her  grandmother's  face. 

"Mummie!  mummie!  Is  it  really  you?"  Another 
clasp  and  burst  of  sobs.  "  And  to  think  you  were  here 
all  the  time,  and  I  did  n't  know  it !  Oh,  it  can't  be  true  1 
It 's  too  good !  I  'm  just  dreamirf  !  " 


THE    FIFTH   ROOM 

Mrs.  Dexter  was  quieter,  but  tears  poured  over  her 
cheeks  like  a  rivulet  in  sunshine. 

"  My  baby ! "  she  whispered,  kissing  the  hot,  moist 
brow.  "My  own  little  Truthiel" 

"  How  did  you  ever  come  ?  "  cried  the  girl  with  wide- 
open  eyes,  sitting  backward  on  the  floor  only  to  hurl  her- 
self forward  anew  for  more  frantic  embraces. 

"  I  can't  believe  it  yet !  It 's  too  good !  Oh,  mummie, 
is  n't  God  good  to  us  ?  " 

Still  on  her  knees  she  began  to  look  about  the  room. 

"  Why,  here  are  lots  of  your  own  things  !  "  she  cried. 
"  Here  is  your  little  work-table  with  all  my  old,  naughty 
scratches  on  it,  and  your  footstool,  and  your  chair,  —  that 
means  you  are  going  to  live  here  with  me  forever  and 
ever.  Don't  it?"  Her  voice  was  that  of  an  ecstatic 
child.  Mrs.  Dexter  could  not  check  her  rapture. 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  you  have  not  seen,  darling," 
the  old  lady  whispered.  "  Look  over  the  mantelpiece. 
The  picture  —  " 

Truth  gave  a  cry.  "  Daddy,  my  own  dear  daddy  I 
Oh,  his  dear,  dear  face!"  She  broke  into  a  summer 
shower  of  tears,  and  threw  herself  into  Mrs.  Dexter's 
arms.  "  Do  you  believe  he  is  with  us  now,  mummie  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  the  widow,  reverently. 

Laughter  broke  through  Truth's  bright  tears.  "  I  tell 
you,  I  don't  dare  to  look  away  from  anything  for  a  minute, 
for  fear  it  will  be  gone !  I  wish  I  was  all  eyes,  like  a 
peacock ! " 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  it  all  myself,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"  Do  you  realize,  Truth,  who  prepared  this  surprise  for 
us?" 

Truth  glanced  at  Van's  averted  figure,  as  if,  indeed,  she 
were  waking.  He  did  not  turn.  Probably  he  had  not 
heard. 

Truth's  thin  nostrils  dilated  as  she  formed  her  purpose. 

"  Yes,  it  was  entirely  his  plan,  his  loving  plan,"  Mrs. 
Dexter  went  on  in  a  voice  so  low  that  it  was  a  whisper. 
"  He  even  came  down  South  for  me.  No  son  could  have 
been  more  thoughtful  and  tender." 

16 


TRUTH    DEXTER 

Truth  rose  slowly  and  soberly  to  her  feet,  gave  the  dis- 
arranged travelling  hat  an  instinctive  jerk  into  place  and 
stood  for  a  moment  panting,  with  wide  eyes  riveted  on 
her  husband's  profile. 

His  attitude  expressed  loneliness  and  dejection.  Per- 
haps even  then  he  was  thinking.  "  I  am  nothing  to 
them,  —  these  selfish  women.  I  have  worked  and  planned 
for  them,  and  now  they  forget  me  !  " 

The  last  barrier  fell  with  a  crash.  A  little  audible 
gasp,  a  soft  impetuous  rush,  —  and  she  was  upon  him. 
Her  strong  young  arms  were  about  his  neck,  her  innocent 
lips  sought  his,  as  she  cried :  — 

"  Oh,  I  thank  you,  I  thank  you,  my  dear,  dear  husband ! 
I  shall  love  you  all  my  life  for  this !  "  It  was  the  first 
kiss  she  had  given  of  her  own  accord.  Craighead  felt  it  a 
thing  of  fire  and  dew,  —  but  it  was  the  fire  that  caught 
his  veins. 

The  canary  sprang  to  his  loop  and  sang  with  an  obses- 
sion of  rapture ;  and  the  sunlight  made  a  golden  halo 
where  Mrs.  Dexter  bowed  her  head  and  wept. 


CHAPTER  XX 

SUNSHINE 

THE  flow  of  real  events  seldom  conforms  to  those  river- 
beds of  apprehension  or  of  hope  that  we  have  digged  for 
ourselves.  A  man  prepares  for  sunshine,  and  storm 
arises;  for  storm,  and  the  clouds  fade  of  themselves. 
Van  had  thought  the  last  boon  possible  to  him  a  harmoni- 
ous, peaceful,  and  contented  home  life,  yet  here  he  was 
in  the  very  midst  of  it,  like  a  tired  wayfarer  who  has 
dreamed  of  deserts,  and  wakes  to  find  himself  in  a  spring 
meadow. 

Few  men,  indeed,  could  have  resisted  the  sweet,  com- 
bined influence  of  Mrs.  Dexter  and  Truth.  Sometimes  a 
very  small  spray  of  jasmine  will  flood  a  whole  room  with 
perfume  ;  so  was  it  with  the  fragrance  of  Mrs.  Dexter's 
pure,  chastened  spirit. 

Orchid,  as  Norton  had  predicted,  was  spending  her 
autumn  abroad.  The  society  papers  announced,  now  and 
again,  the  presence  of  herself  and  Tom  at  some  great 
English  country-house.  Lord  Gayrock  was  nearly  always 
of  the  party.  Truth  never  read  one  of  these  flattering 
notices  without  a  throb  of  thankfulness  and  self-con- 
gratulation. Perhaps  she  thought  that  such  triumphs 
might  keep  the  much-courted  lady  abroad. 

Before  leaving  for  England,  Mrs.  Wiley  had  made  no 
attempt  to  see  Craighead,  or  even  to  write  to  him  ;  but 
on  the  day  of  sailing,  a  great  bunch  of  white  orchids  had 
been  found  lying  on  his  desk,  their  clusters  cunningly  in- 
terwoven with  delicate  seaweed.  When  Norton  entered 
the  office  a  few  moments  later,  they  had  disappeared. 

As  to  Truth's  own  emotions  at  this  time,  it  must  be 
admitted  that  the  little  bride,  being  young,  still  imma- 
ture, and  very  imaginative,  felt  at  times  something 


TRUTH   DEXTER 

resembling  terror,  simply  because  she  was  so  happy ;  and 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  she  did  more  than  a 
few  secret,  unconventional  acts  in  the  way  of  charity, 
self-accusation,  and  prayer.  Yet  underlying  all  was  a 
feeling  of  impermanency,  which,  perhaps,  enhanced  the 
preciousness  of  each  passing  day. 

Craighead's  new  intellectual  interest  was  a  book  on 
the  Future  of  International  Relations.  He  considered  it 
the  main  achievement  of  his  career,  the  outcome  of  many 
years  of  thought  and  speculation.  His  recent  studies  of 
Continental  diplomacy  and  economy  had  been  as  sparks 
to  the  tinder  of  his  convictions.  This  was  to  be  a  book 
which,  beyond  doubt,  would  make  older  statesmen  wince, 
and  the  Continental  nations  hang  their  constitutions  out 
to  dry. 

Somewhat  to  his  surprise,  and  her  own  also,  Truth 
gradually  came  to  fill  the  place  of  amanuensis,  confidant, 
and  literary  adviser.  Intellectually  the  main  issues  were 
beyond  her  grasp,  but  no  fellow-worker  ever  gave  more 
patient  and  untiring  assistance.  Little  by  little  Van  had 
brought  up  manuscript,  note-books,  and  reference  books 
from  his  office  to  the  suite,  until  finally  it  became  neces- 
sary to  transform  one  end  of  his  former  bedroom  (now 
used  as  a  dressing-room)  into  a  sort  of  secondary  office 
and  library. 

A  new  desk  was  bought.  "  Much  too  fancy  for  a 
man  !  "  Van  had  laughed,  on  first  seeing  it.  A  pretty, 
open  bookcase  found  a  place  near  by.  Van  groaned 
inwardly,  but  said  nothing,  when  Truth  covered  all  the 
entrancing,  battered  books  with  a  curtain  of  Oriental 
silk.  The  sanctuary  of  this  room  the  housemaid  was 
forbidden  to  enter.  Truth's  delight  was  to  keep  each 
trinket  and  ornament  in  a  state  of  shining  neatness,  and 
to  see  that  the  bunch  of  violets  in  the  thin-stemmed 
glass  was  never  allowed  to  wither.  She  covered  the 
desk  with  costly  paper-knives,  inkstands,  sealing-wax 
outfits,  sponge-holders,  and  pen-trays,  until  Van  im- 
plored her  to  desist,  else  he  would  begin  to  think  him- 
self a  bargain-counter  rather  than  an  author. 


SUNSHINE  245 

Sometimes  in  moving  about  the  study  on  her  house- 
wifely rounds,  Truth  would  fall  idle  and  set  to  dream- 
ing ;  would  gaze  out  into  the  brightness  of  her  future, 
—  riot  thinking,  but  brooding  in  that  universal  silence 
which  lies  below  all  thought  and  all  happiness.  Van 
had  placed  her  Parisian  portrait  on  his  desk.  The  sight 
of  it  there  always  brought  to  her  a  thrill  of  delight.  At 
her  insistent  request  he  had  several  studies  of  his  own 
head  made.  These  now  appeared  in  every  room,  and  in 
a  variety  of  frames  each  more  gorgeous  than  the  last. 

Mrs.  Dexter,  too,  seemed  contented,  and  even  happy, 
but  with  that  sweet,  unselfish,  transfiguring  happiness 
of  resignation  that  is  as  different  from  youth's  joy  as 
is  a  moonlit  mist  to  the  golden  glory  of  a  summer  noon. 
Her  still  delicate  health  was  the  obvious  excuse  for 
many  social  "  regrets  "  that  might  otherwise  have  given 
offence.  She  kept  to  her  old  habits  of  early  rising  and 
retiring,  spending  the  first  hours  of  morning  in  tending 
her  bird  and  her  window-plants,  or  gazing  out  on  the 
pink  fog  hanging  above  the  Fens. 

Truth  had  given  up  some  of  her  classes,  but  still  at- 
tended lectures,  and  a  school  of  physical  culture.  The 
latter  was  Mrs.  Dexter's  horror. 

"  How  can  well  brought  up  young  women  so  demean 
themselves  ?  "  she  once  exclaimed,  as  Truth  rushed  in, 
panting  and  moist. 

"  But,  grandma,  you  know  it 's  good  for  one's  health." 

"  That  may  be,"  conceded  the  old  lady,  "  but  violent 
exercise  is  always  unbecoming,  and  should,  at  least,  be 
done  in  private.  Perspiration  is  exceedingly  plebeian !  " 

"  But,  grandma,  —  even  you  used  to  walk  about  with 
plates  and  things  on  your  head  and  boards  through  your 
elbow." 

"  Only  in  private,  my  dear.  That  makes  all  the 
difference ! " 

Some  of  the  topics  of  conversation  most  affected  by 
their  fashionable  lady  acquaintances  were  a  source  of 
tribulation  to  the  old-fashioned  Southerner.  On  one 
occasion  a  heavy-faced,  well-meaning  young  matron  at- 


246  TRUTH    DEXTER 

tempted  to  give  the  outline  of  a  clinical  lecture  she  had 
just  attended.  In  the  midst  of  it  Mrs.  Dexter  rose, 
white  and  trembling,  and  left  the  room.  With  the 
sound  of  the  guest's  retreating  footsteps  she  entered 
again,  more  angry  and  excited  than  Truth  had  ever 
seen  her. 

"  Truth  Dexter !  How  does  such  a  woman  dare  to 
call  at  this  house  ?  " 

"  Why,  grandma !  "  protested  Truth.  "  That 's  Mrs. 
Eben  Bean  Fadder  of  Commonwealth  Avenue.  She  's  a 
tremendous  swell." 

"She  may  be  called  a  swell  here, "'said  Mrs.  Dexter 
firmly,  "  if  by  '  swell '  you  mean  a  person  of  family,  — 
but  her  proper  place  is  in  the  slaughter-house." 

"  But  they  all  talk  that  way,"  insisted  Truth,  —  "  even 
my  dear  Mrs.  Adams." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dexter,  the  anger  on  her 
face  giving  way  to  sorrow,  "  I  fear  it  is  so.  I  recollect, 
the  other  day  she  went  into  most  unnecessary  detail 
over  a  slight  attack  of  illness  from  which  the  Judge  was 
suffering." 

"  I  think  it  horrid  myself,"  volunteered  Truth ;  "  but 
I  hear  it  so  much  that  I  am  getting  used  to  it." 

Mrs.  Dexter  was  roused  again.  "  Don't  get  used  to 
it !  Don't  get  used  to  it,  I  entreat  you.  The  influence 
of  one  truly  decent  and  refined  lady  may  accomplish 
much.  Really  it  is  a  matter  which  the  clergy  should 
take  up.  It  is  not  that  I  fail  to  appreciate  the  privilege 
of  healing,  or  the  blessing  even  of  surgery,"  she  shud- 
dered. "  I  have  dressed  many  a  soldier's  wounds  with 
my  own  hands,  and  before  the  war,  —  on  my  plantation, 
—  there  was  not  a  death  or  birth  at  which  I  was  not 
present.  I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  use  of  medicines  nor 
of  terrible  forms  of  disease,  but  it  seems  incredible  to  me 
that  such  subjects  should  enter  into  the  conversation  of 
ladies." 

Yet,  in  spite  of  provincial  differences,  a  very  sincere 
affection  had  sprung  up  between  Mrs.  Dexter  and  Mrs. 
Adams.  The  deep  interest  of  the  latter  in  Truth  would 


SUNSHINE  247 

have  been  a  sufficient  bond  in  itself.  Mrs.  Dexter  never 
wearied  of  hearing  her  darling  praised.  "  Breeding  will 
tell !  "  she  had  exclaimed  more  than  once,  and  then 
colored  faintly,  and  apologized,  thinking  that  she  had 
been  betrayed  into  vulgar  boastfulness.  She  could  not 
speak  so  freely  to  Van  as  to  this  new  friend,  and 
accounts  of  Truth's  naive  speeches  during  her  European 
trip  were  reciprocated  by  many  charming  tales  of  the 
young  wife's  childhood,  treasured  in  Mrs.  Dexter's  lov- 
ing heart,  like  pressed  flowers  in  a  Bible. 

During  the  mornings,  when  Van  was  absent  for  his 
regular  law-business,  which  for  the  present  he  had  no 
intention  of  giving  up,  Truth  went  on  with  her  special 
studies  in  history,  languages,  and  literature.  The  Con- 
tinental trip  had  imparted  a  new  and  more  intelligent 
eagerness  to  her  acquisitive  mind,  and  there  was  no 
range  of  human  experience  into  which  she  did  not  feel 
it  necessary  to  delve.  Van  himself  directed  her  reading 
toward  books  of  information  upon  that  topic  of  growing 
interest  —  the  Far  East.  She  had  met  some  of  those 
most  diligent,  polite,  and  attractive  little  students,  the 
Japanese,  at  Harvard. 

Van  took  her  more  frequently  than  before  out  upon 
long  sleigh-rides  through  the  keen,,  cold  air,  far  out 
beyond  Chestnut  Hill  for  miles  through  Boston's  circle 
of  clinging  parks,  Newton,  Jamaica  Plain,  Dedham,  and 
Milton,  embracing  the  lofty  ledges  of  the  Blue  Hills, 
and  the  heights  of  Dorchester  where  Washington  had 
erected  his  decisive  batteries.  Mrs.  Dexter  thought  her- 
self too  feeble  to  endure  the  unaccustomed  exposure. 
But  Truth  felt  new  life  tingle  in  her  veins  as  she  and 
her  husband  sped  along  the  shining  slippery  roads,  the 
black  span  under  Van's  masterly  control  gradually  pass- 
ing every  rival  equipage,  and  the  keen  sleigh  rails  throw- 
ing showers  of  hardened  snow  into  the  air  at  every  turn 
or  swerve ;  and  she  would  come  back  home  to  greet  her 
delighted  "  Mummie  "  with  flashing  eyes,  and  cheeks  that 
glowed  like  a  rose  at  sunrise. 

In  the  evening,  also,  Craighead  thought  it  best  occa- 


248  TRUTH    DEXTER 

sionally  to  knock  off  work,  and  take  Truth  to  an  Irving 
pageant,  or  to  a  Wagnerian  opera  in  the  improvised 
auditorium  of  the  old  Mechanics  Building.  Truth  liked 
Lohengrin  the  best.  Its  poetical,  chivalric  legend,  and 
brilliant  mediaeval  setting,  even  the  bitter  sorrow  that 
cut  across  its  morning  of  joy,  seemed  to  stir  answering 
chords  deep  in  her  own  nature.  It  was  Van  that  she 
always  saw,  rather  than  De  Reszke,  in  the  dazzling, 
silver  armor ;  and  she  would  nestle  against  him,  or  even 
cling  to  his  arm,  as  if  the  fateful  intriguers  were  about 
to  tear  him  away. 

Norton  came  and  went  like  a  member  of  the  family. 
Mrs.  Dexter  loved  him  from  the  first.  She  declared  that 
he  was  just  like  Truth,  that  he  was  the  image  of  Truth's 
father  who  had  died  when  just  about  the  same  age.  On 
hearing  this,  Truth,  who  had  not  the  faintest  suspicion 
of  the  boy's  real  feelings  toward  her,  laughed  merrily, 
and  said  that  she  should  adopt  him  at  oiice. 

Old  Craighead,  too,  came  often ;  much  oftener,  in  fact, 
than  one  member  of  the  little  group  could  have  wished. 
Mrs.  Dexter,  strive  and  pray  as  she  might,  could  not 
overcome  her  abhorrence  to  the  hard  old  New  England 
face  and  nature.  But  Truth  had  developed  a  genuine 
affection  for  the  lonely  old  man. 

"  He 's  just  like  one  of  our  Southern  '  scaly-barks,' " 
she  said  once  to  Van.  "  Awfully  rough  and  crusty  to 
look  at,  but  not  so  hard  to  crack,  after  all." 

"  And  once  cracked  ?  "  said  Van,  smiling. 

Truth  tilted  her  head  and  looked  at  him  with  eyes 
that  sparkled. 

"  Did  you  ever  eat  a  scaly-bark  ?  " 

"  I  never  did." 

"  Well,  then,  —  words  can't  express  it.  You  must 
wait.  Only  it 's  the  sweetest  nut  that  ever  grew  on  a 
tree." 

Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  she  had  readier"  a  point  of 
intimacy  with  her  one  parent-in-law  where  she  could 
safely  venture  to  tease  him  with  his  pet  prejudices. 

"  What  right  had  you  old  plebeian  Yankees  to  come 


SUNSHINE  249 

interfering  with  us  aristocrats,  anyway  ?"  she  would  ask, 
with  a  haughtiness  that  was  not  all  assumed.  Once, 
when  she  had  been  unusually  extravagant,  he  roused 
himself  to  deal  her  a  mighty  blow. 

"  Now,  look-a-here,  Trewth  1  I  never  thought  to  say 
it  to  my  own  darter-in-law,  —  but  it  appears  to  me  that 
you  ain't  much  better  than  a  rebel ! " 

"  Better  than  a  rebel !  "  echoed  the  undaunted  one. 
"  Why,  who  wants  to  be  better  than  a  rebel  ?     Every- 
body in  the  South  is  one  at  heart,  —  that  is  to  say  " 
with   a  defiant  toss  of  her  head,  "  everybody  who   is 
anybody  1 " 

Though  the  days  were  full  of  quiet  sunshine,  it  was 
the  evening  routine  that  Truth  loved  best.  Then  it  was 
that,  if  no  unavoidable  concert,  opera,  or  dinner  inter- 
fered, she  sat  in  the  little  library  beside  her  husband, 
and  helped  him  write  his  big  book.  Her  place  was  on 
a  low  stool  betwixt  him  and  the  book-shelves.  By  this 
time  she  knew  the  ponderous  tomes  by  heart,  the  law- 
reports,  encyclopaedias,  statistics,  bound  reviews,  and  all, 
and  could  look  up  a  reference  more  quickly  than  Van 
himself. 

To  many  a  writer  it  becomes  almost  a  necessity  to 
read  aloud  a  newly  written  chapter  or  paragraph  while 
he  still  glows  and  tingles  with  its  power.  So  Van  read 
aloud  each  step  of  progress,  and  Truth  listened  with  ears 
and  eyes  and  parted  lips,  winking  a  little  over  the  hard 
words,  but  aching  with  pride  in  the  sonorous  dignity  of 
the  long,  powerful  sentences.  That  upraised  look  of 
adoration  sometimes  smote  Van  as  with  a  blow. 

One  evening  in  early  February  they  had  been  working 
until  an  unusually  late  hour.  The  familiar  sounds  of 
hotel  life,  the  roar  and  tinkle  in  the  streets  below,  had 
ceased,  but  instead,  the  tumult  of  a  storm  arose.  The 
day  had  been  bleak,  and  gray,  and  dusty.  Now  the  sea 
had  sent  in  her  legions  of  over-charged  clouds,  and  battle 
waged  fiercer  than  before.  Sleet  began  to  hiss  at  the 
window-panes,  and  the  gusts  of  wind  stumbled  and 
strode  over  the  tall  house-tops,  until  the  electric-lights 


250  TRUTH    DEXTER 

within  shivered  and  blinked.  Truth  had  looked  up  ref- 
erences until  back  and  eyes  and  brain  ached.  As  Van 
jotted  down  the  last,  she  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and,  before 
he  could  rise  from  the  desk,  had  drawn  her  little  stool 
to  his  knee.  Shyly,  as  was  her  wont  in  all  caresses,  she 
took  one  of  his  hands  in  both  her  own,  and  leaned  her 
head  against  him. 

"Good  little  girl!"  he  said,  and  patted  the  blond 
hair.  She  pulled  his  left  arm  down  until  it  encircled 
her,  and  leaned  closer.  So  they  remained  for  some  mo- 
ments in  silence,  listening  to  the  rush  and  snap  and 
bluster  of  winds. 

"  It  sounds  just  as  if  a  great  big  housemaid  were  lean- 
ing out  of  heaven  to  flap  her  dust-cloth,"  said  Truth. 

"  Do  you  ever  have  such  storms  in  the  South?" 

"  Sometimes,  but  not  often.  How  cruel  sleet  is,  —  it 
comes  down  like  little  knives,  cutting  and  piercing  all 
living  things." 

Another  silence  followed.  Neither  moved.  Then 
Truth  went  on  dreamily :  "  At  home,  now,  the  narcissus 
and  daffodils  are  just  coming  up.  I  know  exactly  where 
to  look  for  each  one.  I  almost  feel  them  under  the  earth, 
and  it 's  hardly  a  surprise  when  I  see  the  first  little  pair 
of  green  hands  coming  through." 

Van  smiled  kindly,  and  patted  her  shoulder. 

"  They  always  seemed  to  me  to  come  up  praying,  the 
hands  pressed  so  close  together,  —  just  so.  And  then 
afterward  comes  the  prayer,  turned  into  flowers.  Oh, 
Van ! "  she  cried  suddenly,  wheeling  about  to  throw  both 
arms  around  him, "  can't  we  ever  have  a  house  of  our 
own  up  here,  out  in  Brookline,  or  Milton,  or  somewhere  ? 
Even  if  it 's  only  a  little  one-story  house,  I  don't  care, 
just  so  I  can  have  a  garden  to  plant  things  in,  and  watch 
for  them  year  after  year.  After  a  while  they  get  to 
knowing  you  and  watching  for  you,  too.  Oh,  you 
needn't  laugh!  Wordsworth  said  that  flowers  had 
souls,  and  he  ought  to  know ! " 

"I  am  not  laughing,  I  assure  you.  Tell  me  more 
about  them." 


SUNSHINE  251 

"  Don't  you  know  anything  about  plants  and  flowers  ?  " 

Van  shook  his  head.  "  Not  much !  Father  used  to 
make  me  work  up  the  '  garden  sass,'  as  he  called  it.  It 
was  the  job  I  hated  most." 

"  How  funny  !  "  mused  the  other,  "  and  I  love  even 
weeds  so,  that  I  always  beg  them  to  forgive  me  for  pull- 
ing them  up." 

"  Well,  little  girl !  do  you  realize  that  it  is  after 
midnight?" 

"  Oh,  not  quite  yet,"  she  pleaded.  "  You  did  n't  say 
anything  about  a  house  in  the  suburbs." 

Van  slipped  his  arm  away  very  gently,  and  rose  to  his 
feet.  "  You  know  I  had  to  sign  the  lease  for  these  rooms 
until  the  first  of  November  next.  Can't  the  question 
wait  until  then  ?  "  | 

Truth  did  not  reply,  and  Van,  after  a  moment,  went 
into  the  bedroom  alone,  but  Truth  sat  on,  dreaming. 

March  came  in,  and  still  Mrs.  Wiley  was  abroad.  Her 
photographs,  it  was  said;  were  making  the  fortunes  of 
London  shop-keepers ;  the  Prince  of  Wales  had  desired 
to  meet  her,  though  the  meeting  never  came  off,  owing 
to  the  impertinent  and  unaccountable  interference  of  Mr. 
Wiley;  duchesses  and  actresses  copied  her  gowns, — 
what  more  could  a  woman  desire  ?  A  magnificent  pic- 
ture of  her  came  to  the  firm  of  Craighead  and  Norton, 
directed  to  the  junior  partner.  "  Of  course  she  meant  it 
for  you,  old  sport,"  Norton  had  said  jovially,  as  he 
propped  it  up  against  a  cigar-stand,  "  only  she  did  n't 
quite  dare  to  put  on  the  true  address." 

"  This  is  no  place  for  a  lady's  picture,"  said  Van  gruffly, 
by  way  of  answer.  "  Griggs  will  be  in  in  a  moment." 
Griggs  was  the  office  boy. 

"  Well,"  protested  Norton,  "  if  every  haberdasher  shop 
in  Fleet  Street  can  have  one  in  the  window,  I  guess  I 
can  give  myself  the  treat  here.  If  it's  too  bright  for 
you,  I  '11  get  you  a  pair  of  smoked  glasses." 

Craighead  had  turned  to  his  work  without  another 
word,  and  Norton,  after  studying  the  face  of  his  senior 


252  TRUTH    DEXTER 

for  a  while,  took  the  picture  down  and  tossed  it  into  a 
drawer. 

In  the  little  Hanover  suite,  sunshine,  for  some  reason, 
was  beginning  to  fade.  With  the  lengthening  of  the 
March  days  an  abstraction,  verging  at  times  upon  melan- 
choly, gained  possession  of  Mrs.  Dexter.  She  never 
stirred  from  the  house,  fearing  the  damp  spring  mists 
and  winds  more  than  the  clear,  dry  cold  of  winter.  She 
would  sit  by  the  window  motionless  for  hours  at  a  time, 
starting  guiltily  if  Truth  entered.  Her  bird  and  flowers 
had  grown  to  be  a  burden  rather  than  a  delight,  and  her 
appetite  became  so  poor  that  Van,  in  much  concern, 
proposed  to  Truth  that  they  should  call  a  physician. 
But  Truth  smiled  up  at  him  with  the  sweet  child-look 
in  her  face.  "  Doctors  can't  help  her,"  she  said.  "  Can't 
you  see  it's  just  homesickness?" 

One  evening  the  old  lady  had  been  sitting  for  nearly 
two  hours,  speechless  and  motionless,  before  her  bed- 
room fire.  The  usual  hour  for  retiring  was  long  past. 
Truth,  at  work  in  the  library  with  Van,  crept  to  the 
door  now  and  then  to  be  ready  for  the  good-night  kiss 
and  blessing.  When  ten  o'clock  had  come  and  gone, 
she  pushed  aside  her  heavy  books,  and  told  Van  that  she 
would  have  to  stop  long  enough  to  'wake  grandma,  so 
she  could  go  to  sleep. 

The  old  lady  was  deaf  to  the  light  step,  and  gave  a 
start  as  Truth  slipped  down  to  the  rug  at  her  feet.  Her 
bright  head  was  on  her  grandmother's  shoulder.  After 
a  moment  she  said,  — 

"  How  pretty  the  birch-logs  are !  But,  after  all,  they 
are  not  pine-knots,  are  they  ?  And  they  don't  smell  like 
home." 

"No,  indeed  they  don't,"  said  the  old  lady  with  a 
sigh. 

"I  wonder  if  Uncle  Norah  has  been  out  on  the  hillside 
for  logs  to-day,  with  Moses,  and  the  old  blue  cart." 

Mrs.  Dexter  did  not  respond,  but  in  a  moment  Truth 
saw  something  small  and  bright  gleam  out  in  the  fire- 
light and  vanish.  It  was  a  tear. 


SUNSHINE  253 

"  Mummie !  You  're  just  dyin'  of  homesickness,  and  I 
know  it !  Now  tell  me  honest,  —  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  am,"  faltered  the  sweet  voice.  "  I  have 
tried  not  to  betray  it,  fearing  that  I  would  give  you  pain. 
But  it  is  no  use,  Truth.  A  young  sapling  like  you  can 
be  transplanted,  but  not  an  old  tree  like  me,  with  the  gray 
moss  of  memory  hanging  from  its  limbs.  I  think  I  could 
go  back  alone.  I  have  never  greeted  a  spring  away  from 
the  old  place,  and  it  seems,  almost,  as  if  —  he  —  "  she 
glanced  at  the  beloved  pictured  face  on  the  wall  — 
"  were  calling  me  to  come.  If  dear  Van  could  make  the 
arrangements  without  too  much  trouble  — 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  shall  go,"  said  Truth  with  decision. 
"  I  know  the  feeling  myself.  It 's  like  an  underground 
root  tugging  at  a  plant  far  away.  I  wake  up  in  the  night 
sometimes,  thinking  that  I  am  at  home,  and  of  all  the 
things  I  am  going  to  do  during  the  day,  —  then  I  hear  an 
electric  car,  or  the  telephone  bell  down  in  the  office,  and 
know  all  at  once  that  I  am  in  Boston.  I  wish  I  could  go 
with  you  —  only  —  Van  —  "  Her  cheeks  flushed,  and 
she  hid  them  against  the  old  lady's  arm. 

"  No,  he  is  too  busy  to  come,  and  you  could  not  leave 
him.  Maybe  he  will  bring  you  down  later." 

"  I  must  get  back  to  the  work,"  said  Truth,  rising  to 
her  feet.  "It  is  high  time  that  mummies  were  in  bed ! " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  at  once."  She  spoke  with  a  certain  ner- 
vous eagerness.  "But,  Truth.  Stop  a  moment, — don't 
you  think  it  would  be  better  to  broach  the  subject  to- 
night? There  is  no  need  of  postponement  1 " 

Truth  smiled,  but  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes.  "  Are  you 
in  such  a  big  hurry  to  leave  us  ?  There !  Never  mind ! 
I  did  n't  mean  it,  —  I  take  it  back.  Don't  look  hurt  I " 

Van  consented,  of  course,  though  he  declared  that  the 
sweetest  influence  of  their  home-life  would  go  with 
Mrs.  Dexter.  "Wouldn't  you  like  to  accompany  her, 
Truth  ?  "  he  asked  generously.  He  smiled  brightly,  ex- 
pecting to  receive  an  answering  smile  of  gratitude  for 
his  thoughtfulness,  and  was  astounded  to  meet  two  dark, 
reproachful  eyes. 


254  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Why,  don't  you  want  to  go  with  your  mummie  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Truth,  trying  to  swallow  an  in- 
convenient lump.  "  She  knows  that  I  want  to  go  with 
her,  only  I  thought  that  —  maybe  —  you  would  n't  want 
me  to." 

"  And  indeed  I  don't ! "  he  cried  heartily.  "  I  was 
nerving  myself  up  to  a  piece  of  sheer  self-sacrifice." 

Truth  was  not  satisfied.  "  If  you  can  do  just  as  well 
without  me  —  "  she  was  beginning. 

"  I  can  do  whatever  is  best  for  you  and  grandma,"  in- 
terrupted he.  "  You  could  n't  want  anything  fairer  than 
that,  could  you  ?  " 

"No-o-o,"  said  Truth,  doubtfully.  She  resumed  her 
seat  with  a  sigh,  and  picked  up  the  heavy  tome.  "  Let 
me  see,  —  we  were  just  at  that  fourth  section  of  the 
Tariff  Law,  weren't  we?" 

Mrs.  Dexter  was  to  leave  the  last  week  in  March. 
The  date  once  fixed,  all  the  old  cheerfulness  returned, 
and  again  she  moved  about  the  pretty  room  with  a  smile 
on  her  lips,  and  low  songs  of  gladness  in  her  heart. 
More  than  once  she  attempted  to  hide  these  signs  of  joy 
from  her  "children,"  but  less  profound  students  of 
human  nature  might  well  have  detected  the  loving  sub- 
terfuge. 

A  few  mornings  after  the  decision,  Mrs.  Dexter  beck- 
oned Van  to  her  room  with  an  air  of  mystery.  As  he 
entered  she  shut  the  door  softly,  and  turned  the  key. 
Craighead  felt  a  little  uncomfortable. 

"  Sit  down,"  fluttered  his  hostess.  "  I  won't  keep  you 
but  a  minute.  I  want  to  consult  you  about  Truth's 
birthday.  You  know  it  is  to-morrow." 

Craighead  looked  guilty.  He  had  never  considered 
the  possibility  that  Truth  might  have  birthdays. 

"  This  is  what  I  've  got  for  her,"  went  on  Mrs.  Dexter, 
confidentially,  as  she  put  into  his  hands  a  little  jeweller's 
package.  "  See  if  you  think  she  '11  like  it." 

Van  examined  the  dainty  pair  of  "stick-pins,"  and 
said,  a  little  awkwardly:  "I  don't  know  much  about 


SUNSHINE  255 

women's  things.  These  seem  to  me  all  right.  What 
had  I  better  get  ?  " 

"  Oh,  any  little  trinket,  or  book,  or  even  a  pot  of  grow- 
ing flowers.  She  will  be  more  pleased  with  the  thought 
than  the  present. 

"  I  '11  stop  at  Crowell's  on  the  way  down,"  said  Van, 
rising. 

He  did  so,  and  was  scowling  into  a  tray  of  ornaments, 
when  a  sort  of  shiver  of  premonition  passed  over  him, 
and,  turning,  he  faced  Orchid  Wiley. 

"  You !  "  he  said,  "  You  !  "  He  whitened  until  Orchid 
herself  was  embarrassed. 

"  Yes,  I !  Don't  look  so  frightened,  the  clerk  might 
see  !  I  'm  not  a  ghost !  " 

Indeed  she  was  not,  but  a  most  entrancing  vision  of 
flesh  and  blood. 

"When  did  you  come?  I  had  not  heard  that  you 
were  to  sail." 

"Jt  was  all  very  unexpected,"  she  said  prettily.  Her 
ease  of  manner  was  for  the  benefit  of  the  clerk.  "  Tom 
had  one  of  his  bad  attacks  of  the  heart,  and  the  physicians 
ordered  a  sea- voyage.  Naturally,  the  voyage  I  chose 
was  that  which  would  bring  me  home.  We  arrived  only 
yesterday." 

"  And  Tom !     How  is  he  now  ?  " 

"  He  is  entirely  recovered  for  the  present,  though 
these  attacks  are  becoming  alarmingly  frequent.  The 
clerk  is  trying  to  catch  your  eye." 

"  Yes,  I  '11  take  that  one,"  said  Van,  desperately. 
"  That  red  one.  Put  it  in  a  box." 

The  clerk  grinned  broadly  as  he  placed  a  hideous  pearl 
and  ruby  ring,  the  size  for  a  child,  in  a  purple  velvet 
box. 

Orchid  waited  until  the  tiny  parcel  had  been  delivered, 
and  then  turned  and  walked  down  the  aisle,  Van  follow- 
ing. Her  coupe*  was  at  the  door.  "  May  I  drive  you  to 
your  office?"  she  asked. 

"  No.     I  must  get  fresh  air.    Why  did  you  come  ?  " 

"A  flattering  question,"  she  remarked,  and  drooped 


256  TRUTH    DEXTER 

her  head.     In  an  instant  he  had  touched  his  hat  and  was 
gone.     She  looked  after  his  tall  form  for  a  moment,  then 

fot  into  her  carriage.     "  Where  ?  "  she  answered,  to  the 
Dotman's  respectful  inquiry.     "  Oh,  anywhere  !     Out  to 
the  Fens." 

Truth  was  very  happy  on  her  birthday.  She  wore  the 
pretty  stick-pins  in  the  lace  at  her  throat,  and  managed, 
with  difficulty,  to  squeeze  the  ring  on  her  little  finger  for 
the  day. 

"  But  I  don't  mind  its  being  too  little,"  she  had  de- 
clared, on  receiving  it.  "  I  shall  never  wear  any  ring 
regularly  but  my  wedding  ring,  and  that  was  put  on  a 
month  too  late."  She  laughed  brightly.  "  What  I  shall 
always  love  about  this  is  that  Van  thought  about  my 
birthday  and  bought  me  a  present  all  by  himself  ! " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LIUTH 

"  You  know  the  Wileys  are  back,"  began  Norton, 
tentatively. 

"Yes,  I  know  it.  I  met  Mrs.  Wiley  in  the  street 
yesterday,  and.  this  morning  ran  in  for  a  hand-shake 
with  Tom.  He  looks  pretty  seedy  after  his  London 
experiences,  though  the  real  season  had  not  begun,  he 
tells  me." 

Norton  looked  relieved  at  the  candor  of  his  friend's 
tone. 

"  I  have  n't  seen  Tom,  but  the  Orchid  is  more  dazzling 
than  ever,  confound  her !  —  with  a  new  Parisian  gown 
for  every  hour  in  the  week." 

Van  did  not  pursue  the  topic,  but  Norton,  after  a 
moment's  restlessness,  went  on:  "I  met  her  at  Mrs. 
Tooter's  yesterday.  All  the  other  women  were  bilious 
with  envy.  We  had  quite  a  talk."  Norton's  manner 
implied  that  there  were  revelations  to  come. 

"  Was  the  conversation  important  ?  " 

"  Naturally,  —  being  about  you.  She  had  a  hundred 
and  one  questions  to  ask." 

Van  did  not  look  up. 

"  Van  !  "  cried  the  junior,  impulsively,  "  I  don't  think 
that  Orchid  is  a  friend  to  Mrs.  Craighead." 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  she  is." 

Norton's  brows  knit.  He  knew  what  such  an  admis- 
sion must  mean  to  one  of  Craighead's  stubborn  pride. 

"  Shall  I  speak  of  it  a  little  further  ?  " 

Craighead  nodded. 

"  Well,  she  tries  to  give  the  impression  that  your  mar- 
riage was  merely  for  money  and  —  pique.  It  makes  my 
blood  boil !  Is  there  no  Way  to  shut  her  up  ?  " 

17 


258  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Was  there  ever  a  way  of  shutting  any  woman  up  ?  " 
responded  Craighead,  bitterly. 

Norton  mused.  "  It  really  would  seem  as  if  she  had 
had  enough  already,  with  all  London  running  after  her, 
and  Boston  to  boot.  Yet  she  can't  forgive  you  for  get- 
ting married.  I  knew  there  was  going  to  be  trouble 
when  she  came  after  you  that  first  morning.  She  had 
green  lights  in  her  eyes.  But  that's  always  the  way. 
The  only  thing  we  want  very  badly  is  the  one  that  is 
out  of  our  reach."  The  young  philosopher  sighed,  as 
he  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  threw  one  foot  up  to  his 
desk. 

"  Do  you  think  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  a  defi- 
nite attack  on  Truth  ?  " 

"  It  looks  jolly  like  it !  Of  course  no  one  can  be  sure 
what  a  woman  is  after.  They  always  fire  their  guns  at 
the  wrong  end.  But  I  fear  that  this  one  means  to  be 
nasty.  She  was  keen  on  hearing  what  other  people 
thought  and  said  of  Mrs.  Craighead,  nodding  and  grin- 
ning like  all  possessed  over  the  compliments,  and  look- 
ing like  her  own  funeral  over  the  others.  There  were 
not  many  of  the  others,  but  I  mixed  in  a  few  to  try  the 
effect." 

Craighead  gave  one  of  his  rare,  brilliant  smiles. 
"You'll  be  a  judge  yet,  Quin.  Now  what  can  we  do 
to  protect  Truth?" 

"  Oh,  Orchid  can't  really  do  anything  beyond  poison- 
ing a  few  social  arrows.  Everybody  will  see  that  it  is 
jealousy.  You  've  got  too  long  a  head  to  have  given  such 
a  woman  any  real  weapon.  If  only  —  I  say,  Van  !  " 
he  wheeled  around,  with  his  bright,  frank  young  eyes 
squarely  on  his  partner.  "Why  in  the  d — did  you 
ever  go  to  Ponkatuck  last  summer  ?  That  is  the  only 
mistake  I  ever  knew  you  to  make." 

Van  flushed.  "  Tom  and  Lord  Gayrock  were  there. 
I  went  to  see  Gayrock." 

"  /  may  believe  that,  but  the  gossips  won't.  What 
does  Mrs.  Craighead  think  of  the  visit  ?  " 

"  She  does  n't  know  of  it." 


LILITH  259 

"  Whe-e-w!"  Norton  was  beginning,  when  the  other 
cut  him  short. 

"  You  are  a  good  chap,  Quin,  and  I  know  you  will  do 
all  you  can,  but  it  is  a  delicate  matter.  I  guess  you  had 
better  keep  out  of  it." 

"As  you  choose,"  said  Norton,  dryly.  "Fine  day 
we  're  having  1 " 

At  the  Hanover  Mrs.  Dexter  and  Truth  were  engrossed 
with  preparations  for  the  former's  departure.  The  most 
important  of  these  was  the  selection  of  presents  to  take 
home,  —  Bibles,  toys,  shawls,  blankets,  "  dress-patterns," 
China,  chair-tidies,  and  ornaments  sufficient  to  gladden 
the  hearts  and  enrich  the  family  traditions  of  a  dozen 
Dextervilles.  "I  never  knew  before  how  nice  it  was 
to  be  rich,"  Truth  had  exclaimed  more  than  once,  as 
she  unwrapped  and  packed  away  some  treasure.  Uncle 
Norah's  present  was  to  be  nothing  less  than  a  gold  watch 
and  chain.  "  He  '11  never  be  got  to  put  the  watch  in  his 
pocket,"  Truth  laughed. 

The  day  of  departure  was  set  for  Tuesday.  The  previ- 
ous Friday  morning  Truth  had  occasion  to  run  down 
town  on  a  hasty  errand.  Returning  about  ten  o'clock 
she  had  left  the  street-cars,  and  was  about  to  enter  the 
Hanover,  when  she  heard  a  merry  voice  at  her  heels :  — 
"  Stop  a  moment,  can't  you  ?  I  'm  all  out  of  breath !  " 

Truth's  heart  sank.  She  had  not  even  heard  that 
Orchid  was  back. 

"  What  luck  to  have  caught  you,  '  on  the  fly,'  as  it 
were  I  I  have  come  to  have  a  little  chat." 

"  I  'm  —  I  'm  —  very  busy  just  now,"  Truth  stammered. 
"  Grandma  is  going  down  South  in  a  few  days,  and  I  am 
helping  her  pack." 

"  Surely  she  can  spare  you  for  half  an  hour !  I  have  n't 
waited  for  you  to  call,  as  you  see,  although  I  've  been 
abroad  so  long." 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you,  indeed,"  said  Truth.  "  And 
next  week  —  " 

"I'm  not  to  be  got  rid  of  so  easily,"  cried  Orchid, 


260  TRUTH   DEXTER      . 

gayly.  "  You  are  too  difficult  to  catch  at  home !  And 
how  do  I  know  that  you  are  not  about  to  run  off  to  the 
South  yourself  ?  " 

"  No,  really  I  am  not,"  said  Truth,  quickly.  "  I  would 
like  to  go,  but  Mr.  Craighead  cannot  spare  me." 

"  Indeed,  is  it  so  ?  How  charming !  Yet  sometimes  it 
is  the  unexpected  that  happens." 

Truth  bore  a  heavy  heart  along  the  palm-fringed  corri- 
dors. The  unwelcomed  visitor  chatted  unceasingly, 
"  How  lovely  your  rooms  are  now !  "  she  cried,  as  they 
crossed  the  threshold.  "  And  what  exquisite  roses  !  La 
Frances  were  always  such  favorites  of  mine ! "  She 
rustled  across  the  room  to  a  great  bunch  of  Duchesse  de 
Brabant  roses. 

Truth's  heart  sank  lower  and  lower.  "Perhaps 
grandma  will  be  able  to  see  you  for  a  little  while,"  she 
said,  moving  toward  the  door. 

"No  —  no,"  entreated  Orchid.  "To  be  frank,  I  did 
not  come  to  see  her  at  all.  I  have  not  asked  for  her, 
you  know.  Let  us  sit  here  by  this  cosey  fire  and  have  a 
little  chat." 

Without  waiting  for  an  invitation  she  drew  forward  an 
easy-chair,  unbuttoned  her  furs,  and  thrust  her  dainty 
feet  forward  to  the  blaze. 

Truth  watched  her  in  silence.  She  was  fighting  down 
something  that  strongly  resembled  fear.  Why  was  it 
that  this  woman  alone  had  power  to  make  her  cower  and 
wince  as  from  an  impending  blow?  Her  new  ease  of 
manner,  her  small  amount  of  self-confidence,  her  very 
happiness,  seemed  to  be  shrivelling  away,  leaving  ex- 
posed the  ignorant,  shy  rustic  from  Alabama. 

Meanwhile  Orchid  was  nestling  contentedly  into  her 
chair,  and  observing,  through  half-shut  eyes,  the  room 
and  its  mistress. 

Truth  drew  nearer  the  fireplace ;  Orchid  lifted  her 
head,  and  all  at  once  seemed  to  become  aware  of  a  large, 
new  photograph  of  Van  that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
mantel-shelf.  Her  eyes  dilated.  The  look  went  through 
Truth  like  a  shiver  in  glass. 


LILITH 

"  What  a  superb  picture  of  Van  ! "  exclaimed  the 
guest.  "  None  I  have  is  so  good." 

"  It  is  his  last  one,"  said  Truth,  with  some  significance 
in  her  tone. 

"  And  being  a  respectable  young  married  man,  he  is 
not  at  liberty  to  give  them  away  wherever  he  listeth," 
laughed  Orchid,  good-naturedly. 

Truth  colored  angrily,  but  did  not  attempt  to  reply. 

"  It's  only  a  joke,  ma  clierie"  said  the  other.  "  I  was 
always  given  to  teasing.  Tell  me  of  your  grandmother's 
trip ;  is  she  to  leave  you  for  an  indefinite  time  ?  " 

"  I  fear  so.     She  cannot  stand  Boston,  —  the  climate." 

"  Or  the  people  ?  " 

"  We  have  some  dearly  loved  friends  in  Boston,"  said 
Truth,  stiffly. 

"  You  will  miss  her  dreadfully,  I  presume.  She  must 
have  been  much  company  for  you." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  miss  her.     But  my  time  is  very  full." 

"Have  you  caught  the  fever  so  soon?"  cried  Orchid. 
"  The  Boston  microbe  is  energy !  May  I  ask  what  form 
the  disease  takes  with  you  ?  " 

Truth  smiled  faintly.  "  I  shall  have  classes  and  courses 
in  reading,  —  then,  besides,  I  am  helping  Mr.  Craighead." 

"  Helping  Mr.  Craighead  ?  Helping  Van  ?  In  what, 
pray  ?  Or,"  —  here  she  dropped  her  eyes  with  an  affecta- 
tion of  embarrassment,  —  "  am  I  too  inquisitive  ?  " 

"  I  am  helping  him  write  a  book,"  said  Truth,  curtly. 

"  A  book  1  How  jolly  !  I  had  n't  heard.  A  novel,  of 
course." 

"  It  is  not  a  novel,"  said  Truth,  indignantly.  "  It  is 
*  A  History  of  Diplomacy  and  Trade  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century  and  A  Forecast  of  International  Relations.' " 

Orchid's  face  remained  preternaturally  grave  for  an  in- 
stant ;  then  her  mouth  began  to  twitch,  her  slight  figure 
to  tremble,  and  all  at  once  she  went  off  into  peal  after 
peal  of  laughter.  Truth  colored  again.  She  drew  her 
thick  brows  together,  and  gazed  sternly  at  her  convulsed 
visitor ;  but  Orchid  was  beyond  self-control. 

"  Shall  I  get  you  a  glass  of  wine,  or  summon  a  ser- 


262  TRUTH    DEXTER 

vant  ?  "  asked  Truth.  No  answer  was  given,  only  the 
desperate  spasms  and  contortions  of  uncontrolled  mirth. 
Truth  seated  herself  on  the  very  edge  of  a  chair  and 
waited  until  the  paroxysm  should  have  passed. 

Orchid  recovered  power  of  speech  in  unequal  gasps. 
"  Ex-cuse  me,  dear,"  she  faltered,  and  wiped  away  the 
tears ;  "  I  know  that  it  was  unpardonable !  You  will 
never  forgive  me !  But  oh !  it  did  sound  so  —  so  — 
supremely  —  fun-ny  ! "  Here  the  attack  threatened 
renewal. 

Truth's  brows  were  dark.  "  Perhaps  it  amuses  you  to 
think  of  my  being  connected  with  such  a  deep  book,  Mrs. 
Wiley.  Let  me  assure  you  that  the  help  I  am  permitted 
to  give  is  of  the  humblest  kind.  I  merely  look  up  refer- 
ences, and  copy  out  paragraphs,  but  it  is  the  greatest 
pleasure  I  have,  and  is,  I  think,  of  some  assistance  to  my 
husband." 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  doubt  it,  —  not  for  an  instant !  "  cried 
the  other,  penitently.  "  A  delightful  conjugal  rhapsody 
of  intellectuality!  All  the  same  Van  is  missing  his 
vocation.  Van  should  write  a  novel,  —  and  in  collabo- 
ration with  —  me  !  " 

Truth  remained  perfectly  silent.  She  was  waiting  for 
the  echoes  of  that  name  "  Van,"  as  pronounced  by  the 
woman  before  her,  to  pass  away  from  her  tortured  ears. 
The  sound  of  it  was  a  deliberate  taunt.  There  was  a  sort 
of  languorous  drawl,  a  memory,  a  caress.  It  had  the 
flavor  of  a  fragrant  past.  Then  she  rose  slowly  to  her 
feet,  and  walked  across  the  hearth-rug  to  her  visitor. 
She  was  conscious  of  an  impassioned  prayer  for  self-con- 
trol. Strength  came,  and  she  looked  down  calmly  and 
steadily  into  the  mocking,  upturned  face.  "  Mrs.  Wiley," 
she  began,  in  her  soft,  high-bred  voice,  "  if  you  desire  to 
be  my  friend,  you  must  not  speak  in  this  way  of  my 
husband.  It  will  be  best  for  us  to  agree  never  to  bring 
his  name  into  our  conversations." 

Orchid  lifted  eyebrows  and  shoulders  in  exaggerated 
astonishment.  Her  smile  deepened.  But  Truth  went  on 
bravely :  — - 


LILITH  263 

"  I  know  that  he  was  your  friend  in  the  past,  long 
before  he  was  my  husband.  But  he  is  my  husband  now 
—  and  —  I  love  him  I  " 

Orchid's  smile  vanished ;  the  defiant  pink  began  to  ebb 
from  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  to  grow  a  little  less  hard 
and  bright.  But  Truth,  now  that  her  small  supplication 
was  at  an  end,  felt  shyness ;  awkwardness  and  terror  be- 
gan a  battle  for  the  possession  of  her  soul.  She  trembled 
from  head  to  foot,  and,  to  steady  herself,  threw  one  hand 
out  toward  the  mantel.  In  doing  so  her  eye  caught 
Van's  pictured  face.  He  seemed  to  smile  strength. 
Scarcely  knowing  what  she  did  she  snatched  the  picture 
from  its  place  and  pressed  her  lips  upon  it.  The  move 
was  an  unfortunate  one.  Orchid's  spine  stiffened. 

"And  what  is  your  reason  for  this  extraordinary 
dictum  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  other  reason,  —  only  that  he  is  my  hus- 
band, and  I  love  him." 

"  And  what  if  I,  too,  —  love  him  ?  " 

Truth  shivered  and  closed  her  eyes.  It  had  come,  at 
last  I  She  felt  as  though  a  clenched  fist  had  struck  full 
upon  her  physical  heart.  The  whole  import  of  the  low, 
whispered  words  could  not  find  place  in  her  consciousness 
all  at  once,  but  now  the  meaning,  the  meanings,  began  to 
come  in  throbs  and  spasms  of  reactive  agony.  The  fact 
that  Orchid  was  a  married  woman  smote  her  with  a  sense 
of  personal  shame. 

"  Well ! "  came  the  defiant  voice.  "  What  have  you  to 
say?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Truth,  brokenly. 

"  You  are  shocked,  doubtless." 

"  I  am  ashamed." 

"  Oh,  these  spotless,  proud  Southern  aristocrats !  I  have 
met  others  of  your  countrywomen  not  so  squeamish !  " 

"Will  you  excuse  me  now,  Mrs.  Wiley?" 

"  Do  you  turn  me  out  ? "  cried  the  other,  angrily. 
"  There  are  a  few  things  yet  to  be  said." 

"  You  may  be  shameless,  but  are  you  pitiless  as 
well?  "  cried  Truth,  with  a  flash  of  spirit,  "I  tell  you 


264  TRUTH    DEXTER 

that  I  will  hear  nothing  from  your  lips.  If  there  is  any- 
thing to  be  told,  I  will  hear  it  from  my  husband,  or  no 
one." 

Orchid  rose  to  her  feet,  and  began  fastening  her  wraps. 
"  He  would  be  the  last  to  speak,  my  dear,  although  it  is 
principally  for  his  benefit  that  you  should  be  enlightened. 
You  are  making  him,  as  well  as  yourself,  the  laughing- 
stock of  Boston,  with  this  ridiculous  affectation  of  felicity. 
Your  fantastic  marriage  —  " 

"Will you  be  silent?"  said  Truth  in  a  low, dangerous 
tone.  Her  great  eyes  were  those  of  a  trapped  lion.  The 
dauntless  Orchid  drew  back  a  step. 

"  You  little  fool !  "  she  hissed.  "  I  came  to  help  you 
and  him.  You  must  hear  the  truth  sooner  or  later.  Ask 
Mrs.  Adams  why  he  married  you !  Ask  Norton !  Ask 
Van  himself!"  " 

Truth's  calmness  seemed  to  return.  "  What  have  I 
ever  done  to  you  that  you  should  hate  me  like  this? 
You  have  a  husband  of  your  own,  beauty,  wealth,  social 
position,  —  everything,  yet  you  take  the  trouble  to  come 
here  and  torture  me.  My  husband's  affairs  cannot  con- 
cern you  now.  If  you  ever  had  a  claim  upon  him,  it  is 
over  and  done  with,  —  it  is  in  the  past." 

"  Last  summer,  at  Ponkatuck,  was  not  so  very  far  in 
the  past." 

"  Ponkatuck  !  "  echoed  Truth.  The  name  had  an 
ominous  sound. 

"  Then  he  has  n't  dared  tell  you ! "  cried  Orchid.  The 
triumph  on  her  face  was  unmistakable. 

Truth  threw  out  both  hands  as  if  to  keep  her  enemy 
at  bay.  "  I  don't  want  to  hear !  I  won't  hear ! " 

Orchid's  face  was  one  victorious  sneer.  She  turned 
to  leave.  "  You  have  brought  this  on  yourself  by  your 
insolence,"  she  said  brutally.  "  Ask  Van  —  whom  you 
trust  so  implicitly — about  the  letter  on  the  beach  and 
the  kiss!" 

The  door  closed  softly.  Truth  stood  counting  the 
merry  little  heel-taps  as  they  pattered  down  the  corridor. 


LILITH  265 

When  Mrs.  Dexter  entered,  a  few  moments  later,  she 
found  the  young  wife  still  motionless  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  with  a  face  that  seemed  to  look  on  death. 

The  old  lady  strove  to  conceal  her  alarm.  "  Are  you 
feeling  sick,  dearie?  You  look  tired.  Who  was  the 
guest  that  just  went  out?" 

"  I  've  got  a  very  bad  headache,  mummie,"  said  Truth, 
then  roused  herself  slowly  and  stared  around  the  room. 
"  I  have  not  felt  well  for  several  weeks,  but  this  morn- 
ing the  pain  came  on  suddenly.  Please  don't  tell  — 
Van,  that  it  hurts  so  much,  or  that  any  caller  was  here. 
It  will  get  well  soon.  Only  I  must  be  quiet  and  alone 
all  the  rest  of  the  day.  Will  you  see  that  nobody  dis- 
turbs me  ?  —  not  even  him." 

"Of  course,  my  darling  child!  But  you  ought  to 
take  something,  some  bromide,  or  anti-kamnia.  Don't 
you  want  mummie  to  rub  your  head  ?  " 

Truth  shook  her  aching  head. 

"  And  it  came  on  just  this  morning?  " 

Truth  looked  around  the  room  again  as  if  to  be  sure 
that  it  was  empty,  then  she  walked  unsteadily  toward 
her  bedroom  door.  All  at  once  she  became  conscious  of 
her  grandmother's  last  question. 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes !  It  seemed  to  come  on  just  this  morn- 
ing. But,"  here  she  gave  a  smile  of  tremulous  and  in- 
finite pathos,  "  now  I  know  that  it  has  been  there  all  the 
time." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE   SCOURGE 

TRUTH  was  allowed  to  remain  in  her  bedroom  during 
that  dreadful  afternoon  and  night  undisturbed,  except 
when,  at  long  intervals,  Mrs.  Dexter  would  creep  to  the 
door  to  ask  whether  anything  could  be  done,  or  to  sug- 
gest anew  the  summoning  of  a  physician.  Van  came 
once,  once  only ;  and  then  Truth  lay  in  stricken  silence, 
thought  and  feeling  suspended,  until  he  should  have 
turned  from  the  door,  his  low  questions  unanswered. 

"  She  must  be  asleep ;  she  did  not  answer.  Poor  lit- 
tle girl  I  I  wish  she  had  let  us  send  for  a  physician,"  he 
said  to  Mrs.  Dexter.  Truth  heard  the  kind  words  and 
kinder  tone,  and  poured  them,  as  new  grist  for  agony, 
into  the  busy  mill  of  her  thoughts. 

Her  suffering  was  of  that  poignant  kind  that  comes  to 
the  young  and  inexperienced  only.  Old  people  realize 
from  the  first,  with  a  sort  of  reluctant  satisfaction,  that 
the  blackest  crisis,  once  lived  through,  must  get  better 
instead  of  worse  ;  but  to  the  young,  every  grief  swallows, 
at  one  gulp,  all  times,  all  pasts  and  futures.  Death 
seemed  the  one  solution,  and  hour  after  hour  Truth  lay 
face-down  upon  the  bed,  picturing  to  herself  various 
probable  consummations  of  her  death  and  burial.  Now 
she  was  Elaine,  stretched  upon  a  mediaeval  bier,  with  a 
modern  Lancelot  to  cast  before  her  bright  jewel- tears  of 
remorse;  again,  she  was  only  a  poor,  starved,  loving 
girl,  dying  at  her  betrayer's  feet.  Fragments  of  death- 
bed speeches  floated  through  her  mind,  as  tattered 
shreds  of  mist  upon  a  stormy  mountain.  Letters  of 
renunciation  and  forgiveness  were  composed  only  to  be 
flung  aside  for  a  more  heartrending  creation.  Then  the 
softer  mood  would  pass,  and  she  was  a  tormented  human 
soul  with  the  fox,  jealousy,  under  her  cloak  of  pride. 


THE    SCOURGE  267 

By  nightfall  she  had  convinced  herself  that  she  was 
an  object  of  loathing  to  Van ;  that  he  had  loved  Orchid 
all  along,  and  still  loved  her.  Oh,  the  shame  of  that 
thought !  But  as  for  the  motives  in  marriage  at  which 
Orchid  hinted,  that  was  still  a  mystery.  It  had  cer- 
tainly been  a  noble  thing  in  him  to  assume  the  care  of 
two  helpless  women,  yet  here  she,  Truth,  was  accused 
of  making  him  a  laughing-stock  merely  by  loving  him 
and  being  happy.  Orchid  had  been  married  for  years. 
If  she  had  loved  Van  in  the  past,  why  did  she  ever 
marry  Mr.  Wiley?  Truth  felt  that  the  situation  was 
beyond  her.  Suddenly  the  name  "  blood-money ! " 
clanged  like  a  warning  through  her  hollow  fancies. 
She  was  living  in  luxury  on  the  money  of  a  traitor. 
The  Colonel  had  died  almost  with  a  curse  against  it 
upon  his  lips.  Blood-money !  This  must  be  the  cause 
of  it  all,  and  she  told  herself  the  punishment  was  just. 
No  wonder  that  the  Boston  people  mocked  and  laughed 
to  see  two  Southern  ladies  adorning  themselves  in  traitor 
plumes  and  yet  holding  their  heads  high.  This  might 
explain  the  attitude  of  Boston,  but  was  it  sufficient  rea- 
son, in  itself,  to  excuse  Van's  visit  to  Ponkatuck  and  his 
silence  concerning  it  ?  And  the  letter,  —  the  kiss  !  A 
new  flood  of  agony  washed  down  the  little  heap  of  rea- 
son that  she  had  been  building.  No,  the  mystery,  the 
horror  of  it  all,  was  beyond  her. 

But  something  must  be  done.  She  would  ask  some 
good  friend  to  help  her,  —  Mrs.  Adams,  the  Judge,  the 
Rector  of  her  church,  —  Norton.  Norton !  Her  heart 
stopped.  She  had  spoken  to  him  once  before,  long  in 
the  past.  "  I  want  to  ask  you  whether  you  think  that 
he — Mr.  Craighead  —  has  any  enemies?"  She  had 
dreaded  Mrs.  Wiley  even  then.  "  Some  people  can't  for- 
give their  friends  for  being  happy,"  Norton  had  replied. 
"  But  if  they  ever  trouble  you,  you  just  come  to  me  and 
I  '11  settle  them !  "  Yes,  Norton  was  the  one  to  whom 
she  would  go.  He  had  always  seemed  to  like  her,  and 
he  was  Van's  friend,  too.  This  decision  brought  such 
comfort  that  soon  after  she  fell  asleep. 


268  TRUTH    DEXTER 

The  next  morning  broke  in  a  scourge  of  wind  and 
rain.  Truth  had  two  points  clear  in  her  mind,  —  first, 
that  she  would  speak  to  Norton  as  soon  as  possible ;  and 
second,  that  she  would  not  burden  Mrs.  Dexter  with  her 
anguish,  but  let  the  dear  one  start  South  with  an  un- 
troubled heart.  She  was  able  to  say  good-morning 
calmly,  and,  in  response  to  loving  inquiries,  state  that, 
although  the  pain  was  not  entirely  gone,  she  was  practi- 
cally recovered  from  the  attack. 

At  breakfast  Van  remarked,  "I  shall  have  to  be 
prompt  at  the  office  this  morning.  Norton  is  in  New 
York  for  a  few  days." 

After  breakfast  Truth  stood  at  her  bedroom  window 
looking  out  into  the  storm.  It  had  all  passed  through 
her  soul  but  a  few  hours  before,  and  this  was  merely  a 
visible  manifestation.  An  irresistible  longing  came  over 
her  to  go  out  and  become  part  of  it.  Perhaps,  in  this 
way,  her  own  dark  moods  might  be  clearer.  The  long- 
ing grew  to  a  sort  of  madness.  She  hurried  into  wraps, 
waterproof,  and  snow-shoes,  and  announced  to  Mrs. 
Dexter  that  she  was  going  out  into  the  fresh  air  for 
an  hour. 

"  Fresh  air !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Dexter  in  consternation. 
"  Why,  this  is  a  hurricane !  You  will  catch  your  death ! 
I  can't  let  you  go  1 " 

"  Oh,  mummie,  don't  try  to  keep  me  1  I  must  go.  I 
must!  Don't  you  remember  how  I  always  loved  the 
wind  at  home  ?  I  need  it  now  more  than  I  ever  did  in 
all  my  life !  Don't  try  to  stop  me,  —  there 's  a  dear, 
good  mummie  1  And  I'll  bring  you  a  big  bunch  of 
violets."  In  another  moment  she  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Dexter  sighed  and  resumed  her  work.  Her 
thoughts  went  back  to  Truth's  childhood  days,  in  which 
an  almost  savage  love  of  the  wind  had  been  a  marked 
characteristic.  Often  at  the  incoming  of  a  summer 
storm  she  would  disappear,  to  be  found  later  at  the 
very  tip  of  some  strong  pine  sapling,  lashed  about  and 
swayed  and  tossed  like  a  very  Ariel  of  storms. 

Truth,  too,  was  thinking  of  the  old  days  as  she  hurried 


THE    SCOURGE  269 

out  toward  the  Fens.  "  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  climb  a 
tree  again,"  she  said  to  herself.  Then,  a  moment  later, 
"  If  I  should  try  it  now  my  heart  would  weigh  down  the 
tree  before  I  got  to  the  top." 

The  wind  had  grown  higher,  but  the  rain  was  almost 
gone.  What  little  there  was  the  wind  dashed  back  into 
the  face  of  heaven  before  it  could  touch  the  already 
sodden  earth.  The  wind  itself  was  in  a  mad  witch- 
waltz, —  a  thing  of  changing  shapes  and  moods  and 
minds.  At  one  moment  it  hid  crouching  and  trembling 
among  the  soaked  dead  grasses  of  the  Fens ;  at  another 
it  rose  in  almost  visible  curves,  with  human  shrieks  of 
excitement,  then  fell  again  in  heavy,  quivering  viewless- 
ness  of  bulk  upon  the  wind-colored  plain  and  river.  At 
the  brink  of  many  Fen-pools  small  wedges  of  ice  drifted 
together  and  gnawed  incessantly  at  the  stems  of  stark, 
brown  reeds,  with  the  sound  of  famished  mice. 

The  little  Fen-bridges  cowered  lower  than  usual,  and 
were  stooped,  like  despondent  old  men.  Across  the 
Charles  River  the  long,  dark  span  of  Harvard  Bridge, 
above  its  strung  hemispheres  of  space,  seemed  to  lift  and 
fall  with  the  gusts,  as  some  huge  reptile  breathing  in 
pain. 

Truth  drew  her  hood  until  the  pale  oval  of  her  face 
alone  was  exposed.  Frosty  particles  of  moisture  sparkled 
in  her  eyelashes,  and  the  cold  wind  was  like  steel  pressed 
against  her  lips  and  cheeks.  It  was  blowing  now  with 
a  steady  pressure,  so  that  she  leaned  against  it  as  if  it 
had  been  a  hedge.  Suddenly,  with  a  hoarse  burst  of 
laughter,  it  fell  back,  almost  throwing  her  to  the  ground. 
She  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed  defiance,  at  which 
challenge  the  wind  grew  wroth,  and  sent  Deva  kings 
from  the  four  corners  of  space  to  do  battle.  Truth's 
longing  for  death  was  forgotten.  The  faint,  slow  pink 
came  back  to  her  cheeks  and  the  brightness  to  her  eyes. 
She  was  deaf  and  blind  to  all  but  the  wind.  For  more 
than  an  hour  the  revel  lasted,  and  then  her  adversary,  as 
though  physically  tired,  began  to  lag  and  whine.  Truth 
turned  homeward,  a  weeping  Naiad  no  longer,  but  a 


270  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Valkyrie.  The  strength  of  primeval  freshness  was  in 
her  heart. 

Faithful  to  her  promise  of  bringing  violets  to  Mrs. 
Dexter,  she  turned  into  Beacon  Street  in  search  of  a 
florist.  She  was  so  close  to  Mrs.  Adams  that  a  mis- 
chievous desire  came  upon  her  to  run  in  and  give  that 
good  friend  a  surprise.  The  effect  was  as  she  could  have 
wished.  Mrs.  Adams  threw  up  her  plump  hands  in  un- 
belief and  horror,  and  began  to  hurl  questions :  — 

"  Lor',  child !     Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  Out  on  the  Fens,  having  a  bout  with  King  Boreas." 

"  What  makes  your  eyes  so  big  and  bright?" 

"  The  better  to  see  you,  my  dear  1 " 

"  But  what  makes  your  lips  so  red  ?  " 

"  The  better  to  kiss  you,  my  dear !  "  Truth  suited  the 
action  to  the  words. 

"  I  believe  you  are  the  incarnation  of  a  Valkyrie," 
said  Mrs.  Adams,  as  Truth  threw  aside  the  cloak  and 
hood. 

"  Oh,  it 's  done  me  good !  It  blows  away  the  person- 
ality like  thistle-down,  and  leaves  only  the  seed-vessel  of 
individuality !  How  's  that  for  a  metaphysical  speech  ?  " 

Mrs.  Adams  laughed.  "  I  wish  it  would  come  in  and 
blow  away  some  of  these  personalities  from  my  table," 
she  said. 

Truth  then  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  her  hostess 
was  up  to  the  elbows  in  envelopes  and  printed  circulars. 

"  What  is  it  ?     Your  morning's  mail  ?  " 

"  No,  alas  I  It  is  an  extra  club-meeting.  I  am  secre- 
tary, but  intend  to  resign  immediately.  Women's  clubs 
are  a  nuisance ;  they  are  always  changing  their  minds  !  " 

"  Which  of  your  many  is  it  ?  Maybe  I  can  stop  long 
enough  to  help  you  direct  envelopes." 

"  Ah,  my  child,  if  you  only  would !  You  are  an  angel 
of  mercy  1  Which  club,  you  say  ?  It 's  the  Cosmical." 

Truth  seated  herself  at  the  table.  "  I  only  hope  I 
won't  leave  out  the  '  s '  and  make  it  '  comical.' " 

"  One  name  would  be  quite  as  appropriate  as  the  other ! 
Oh,  you  are  a  dear  to  help  me !  I  've  got  as  far  as  the 


THE    SCOURGE 

H's,  —  now  begin.  I  '11  call  out.  '  Mrs.  J.  Q.  Arrow- 
ditch  Higgle.'  " 

Truth  stopped  to  laugh.  "  Oh,  these  Boston  names  !  " 
she  cried,  "  '  J.  Q.'  is,  of  course,  '  John  Quincy,'  or  '  Jo- 
siah  Quincy.'  Arrowditch  is,  I  believe,  historical  — 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Adarns,  gravely. 

"  And  Higgle  - 

"  The  less  said  about  that,  the  better.  The  Higgles 
are  great  Commonwealth  Avenue  swells,  now,  as  you 
know ;  but  quite  within  the  memory  of  living  man,  — 
and  woman  also,  —  old  Mr.  Higgle  baked  beans  and  sold 
them,  Sundays,  to  the  population  of  South  Boston. 
Beans  are  not  allowed  in  that  household  now,  —  so  ple- 
beian, you  know !  " 

For  about  two  hours  the  friends  worked  steadily,  often, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  beguiling  the  time  with  similar  anec- 
dotes. One  envelope  was  left. 

"The  last!"  cried  Mrs.  Adams,  with  a  huge  sigh  of 
relief.  "Ready?  Well,  then— 'Mrs.  Thomas  Court- 
ney Wiley.' r 

Truth  wrote  down  the  name  in  silence,  and  placed  it 
neatly  on  the  last  heap.  Then  she  asked,  casually, 
"  Mrs.  Wiley  belongs  to  a  great  many  clubs,  does  n't 
she  ?  " 

"  All  of  them !  Every  one  of  them !  Sorosis,  Cos- 
mical,  Walt  Whitman,  Browning,  Art  Students'  League, 
Historical,  Buddhist,  Brahminical,  Zoroaster,  Folk-Lore, 
Metaphysical,  Histrionic,  and  a  dozen  others  !  She  be- 
longs to  them,  indeed,  but  she  only  goes  to  those  where 
men  are  apt  to  be  present." 

Truth  said  nothing.  Mrs.  Adams  gave  an  apologetic 
little  laugh. 

'*  I  know  that  sounded  nasty,  and  I  don't  like  to  say 
spiteful  things  about  my  own  sex ;  but  that  woman  irri- 
tates me  beyond  all  bounds.  She  eats,  sleeps,  and  drinks 
vanity !  She  is  insatiable !  Why,  last  week,  she  nearly 
turned  the  head  of  the  Judge  himself !  She  is  a  menace 
to  society,  and,  by  the  way,  Truth,  I  fancy  she  is  not  a 
good  friend  of  yours." 


272  TRUTH    DEXTER 

The  wind  died  out  above  Truth's  heart,  leaving  it  a 
wide  plain,  sodden  with  tears. 

"  I  have  never  done  Mrs.  Wiley  any  harm.  Why 
should  she  dislike  me?"' 

Mrs.  Adams  shook  her  head.  "  I  fear  she  does.  I  am 
not  at  liberty  to  give  my  authority  (it  had  been  Quincy 
Norton),  but  I  am  convinced  that  she  is  as  spiteful  as  a 
cat,  where  you  are  concerned." 

Mrs.  Adams  began  tying  up  the  envelopes  into  pack- 
ages. She  was  a  little  frightened  at  having,  at  last, 
broached  the  delicate  subject.  Truth  sat  perfectly  calm 
and  still,  but  a  flood  of  thoughts  was  rushing  through  her 
brain.  Here,  indeed,  was  her  opportunity  for  speaking. 
Mrs.  Adams  loved  her,  and  would  counsel  her  wisely,  — 
would  keep  her  from  making  herself  ridiculous  in  the  eyes 
of  Boston.  No  one  knew  the  social  conditions  better  than 
Mrs.  Adams ;  Norton  was  only  a  boy,  after  all,  —  yet  it 
would  have  been  easier  to  speak  to  Norton.  Twice,  — 
thrice,  —  Truth  opened  her  lips,  but  each  time  that  mor- 
bid delicacy  in  personal  affairs  which  is  the  charm,  and 
sometimes  the  misfortune,  of  most  well-born  Southern 
women,  held  back,  as  a  stifling  hand,  the  life-giving  flow 
of  confidence.  After  a  long  pause  she  said :  — 

"  I  have  felt  from  the  first  that  Mrs.  Wiley  disliked 
me,  although  she  is  always  urging  me  to  be  intimate ;  but 
I  had  no  way  of  finding  out  the  reason  of  her  prejudice." 

The  elder  lady  was  deceived  by  Truth's  composure. 
"  Why,  my  dear !  It 's  simple  enough !  She  's  piqued 
and  jealous  because  Van  married  you." 

"She  had  a  husband." 

"  That  doesn't  satisfy  Orchid  Wiley.  She  wants  half 
the  wealth  and  talent  of  Boston  for  playthings,  and 
nothing  infuriates  her  like  the  escape  of  a  desirable 
victim." 

"And  was  Mr.  Craighead  recognized  as  one  of  her 
victims  ?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps,  not  exactly  a  victim  "  (Mrs.  Adams 
was  in  deeper  waters  than  she  had  bargained  for) .  "  You 
know  how  it  is  !  —  or,  rather,  you  don't  know  now  it  is, 


THE    SCOURGE  273 

you  refreshing  innocent !  As  soon  as  Van  began  to  be 
known  and  talked  about,  she  made  up  to  him  in  the  most 
brazen  manner.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  gossip,  but  at 
the  height  of  it  he  went  South,  and  came  back  married 
to  you.  Society  chuckled  to  see  how  cleverly  he  had 
escaped.  She  knew  that  it  chuckled,  and  was  enraged. 
That 's  the  whole  story  1  It  is  not  worth  thinking  about. 
She  '11  soon  have  another  fad.  You  are  not  the  only  wife 
on  her  black-list,  I  assure  you.  If  the  Judge  had  a  little 
more  hair  she  would  be  persecuting  me,  I  presume." 

Truth  forced  an  answering  smile. 

"  After  all,"  Mrs.  Adams  went  on,  "  men  are  only  men, 
and  most  of  them  get  their  heads  turned  sooner  or  later. 
Van  is  lucky  to  have  you  to  keep  him  in  order." 

"  I  don  't  think,"  said  Truth,  slowly,  "  that  I  should 
care  for  a  husband  I  would  have  to  keep  in  order." 

44  Highty-tighty  ! "  laughed  the  other.  "That  senti- 
ment will  do  on  the  stage,  or  in  books,  but  not  in  every- 
day life.  All  men  will  bear  watching, — even  the  Judge." 

Truth  rose  to  her  feet.  "  Well,"  she  said  wearily,  "  I 
must  hurry  back  or  I  '11  be  late  for  luncheon." 

"  Can't  you  stay  with  me  ?     I  've  been  counting  on  it." 

"  Really,  I  can't.  Grandma  is  going  to  leave  so  soon. 
I  just  came  by  this  way  to  buy  her  a  bunch  of  violets." 

Mrs.  Adams  accompanied  her  to  the  door.  On  the 
threshold  Truth  turned  for  a  last  question.  The  effort 
was  agony. 

"  What  impression  is  Mrs.  Wiley  trying  to  give  as  to 
Van's  motives  in  marrying  me  ?  "  Truth  was  surprised 
at  the  ease  with  which  the  words  came,  for  each  was  to 
her  a  footstep  in  the  death-dance  of  the  little  Sea  Maid. 
Mrs.  Adams  flushed  and  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  Tell  me !  "  urged  Truth.     "  I  don't  care  much." 

"Has   Mrs.    Wiley  herself    ever  tried  to   enlighten 

you?" 

"Yes,  she  was  at  the  Hanover  a  few  mornings  ago, 
and  —  tried." 

"  The  red-headed !  What  did  she  say  ?  Pique 

and  money?" 

18 


274  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Truth  uttered  an  inarticulate  sound.  "Yes,  it  was 
blood-money,"  she  whispered.  "I  knew  it  was  blood- 
money  ! " 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Adams  stared ;  she  thought  Truth 
had  lost  her  senses  under  the  strain.  "  Blood-money  1 " 
she  echoed.  "  I  don't  understand." 

"  Why,  my  uncle  !  You  heard,  —  I  told  you.  He 
betrayed  the  South,  and  we  are  living  on  that  money ! " 

Mrs.  Adams  flushed  with  something  like  annoyance. 
"  Are  you  not  over  that  wretched  nonsense  yet,  child  ? 
That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it !  Nobody  in  the  world 
but  a  pack  of  antediluvian  Southern  fanatics  could  even 
imagine  such  scruples.  No,  the  money  that  she  meant 
was  money  as  money, — good,  hard  gold  coin  of  the 
realm." 

"  But  that  seems  almost  more  awful  than  the  other," 
said  Truth,  who  was  growing  white  as  death 

"  Nonsense !  Nobody  believes  her.  You  are  not  to 
trouble  your  head  about  it.  I  wish  I  had  never  spoken !  " 

"  But  I  thank  you  for  telling  me,"  said  Truth,  with 
a  heart-broken  little  smile.  "  You  are  always  good  to 
me." 

She  went  off  alone  down  the  half-deserted  streets,  Mrs. 
Adams  watching  her  with  tear-brimmed  and  troubled 
eyes.  The  wind  had  tired  itself  utterly.  From  every 
side  came  the  melancholy  drip  and  tinkle  of  roof-gutters, 
and  a  thick,  drifting  mist  broke  into  wet  sparks  against 
her  face.  The  heaped-up  snow  was  gray  and  porous,  like 
pumice-stone,  the  whole  earth  bruised  and  dark  and 
swollen  with  its  recent  struggle. 

For  a  long  time  Truth  was  unconscious  of  her  course, 
or  of  her  surroundings;  then  the  bright  vision  of  a 
florist's  window  recalled  her  to  the  present.  She  went 
in  and  bought  a  great  bunch  of  pure  white  violets,  so 
delicate  and  ethereal  that  they  seemed  the  souls  of  earthly 
blossoms. 

"  To  think  that  blood-money  can  buy  such  sweetness  !  " 
thought  Truth  bitterly,  as  she  went  into  the  street  again, 
the  flowers  well  sheltered  under  her  cape. 


THE    SCOURGE  275 

Some  time  later  she  entered  her  grandmother's  room 
and  presented  the  offering. 

Mrs.  Dexter  kissed  her  once  for  welcome  and  once  for 
the  flowers.  "We  were  much  worried  about  you  at 
lunch-time  until  Van  thought  of  telephoning  to  Mrs. 
Adams,  and  found  you  were  there." 

"About  when  did  he  telephone?"  asked  Truth, 
curiously. 

Mrs.  Dexter  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  About  half -past 
one,  I  should  say.  It  is  now  nearly  three." 

"  Yes,  I  was  at  Mrs.  Adams's  for  quite  a  while.  She  is 
a  faithful  friend."  To  herself  she  was  saying,  "  She  must 
have  seen  that  I  was  suffering,  and  has  tried  to  shield 
me  from  questions  at  home.  It  was  before  twelve  that 
I  left  her." 

"  She  is,  indeed,  a  good  friend,"  assented  Mrs.  Dexter. 
"  You  ought  to  be  a  happy  girl  with  such  good  friends 
and  such  a  good  husband !  "  Truth  stooped  to  the  floor 
to  pick  up  something  which  had  not  been  dropped. 

"  Run,  now,  and  change  your  clothes,"  continued  the 
old  lady.  "  Your  feet  must  be  wringing  wet."  Truth 
went  toward  the  door.  "  But  wait  a  minute  1  I  was 
nearly  forgetting.  Van  left  a  message  for  you,  —  he 
wants  you  to  be  dressed  for  the  evening  when  he  comes 
to  dinner.  He  has  a  pleasant  surprise  for  you." 

Truth  stopped  short,  with  sudden  terror  in  her  eyes. 
"  Where  is  it,  mummie  ?  Oh,  I  can't  go  !  " 

Mrs.  Dexter  looked  around  in  astonishment.  "I  said 
a  pleasant  surprise,  dear." 

"  Oh,  I  must  hide  it  all  until  she  is  gone  ! "  thought 
Truth.  "  I  must  control  myself  better  1 "  She  went 
into  her  room  and  locked  the  door. 

Meanwhile  Van  was  hurrying  through  work  in  order 
to  get  back  home  a  little  earlier  than  usual.  He  and 
Mrs.  Dexter  had  had  quite  a  confidential  talk  about 
Truth  over  the  luncheon  table.  They  had  agreed  that 
she  looked  far  from  well,  and  both  ascribed  it  to  grief  at 
the  thought  of  losing  her  grandmother. 

"She   has  the   tenderest  heart  in  the  world,"   had 


276  TRUTH   DEXTER 

cried  Mrs.  Dexter.  "  She  is  a  dear,  good  girl,"  was 
Van's  assent.  "  I  will  bring  her  down  to  Dexterville 
on  a  visit  the  very  first  week  I  can  spare  time." 

The  gentle  mood  was  still  on  him  [as  he  rode  toward 
the  Hanover  late  in  the  afternoon.  "  A  dear,  good 
girl !  "  he  reiterated.  "  Few  Boston  men  get  such  docile 
wives.  I  sometimes  regret  that  she  has  lost  so  much  of 
her  free,  Southern  spirit.  I  like  a  plucky  woman,  — 
but  perhaps  they  are  not  so  pleasant  to  live  with." 

He  found  Mrs.  Dexter  and  Truth  in  the  drawing-room. 
The  former  lay  on  a  sofa,  but  Truth  was  standing  be- 
fore the  mantel,  gazing,  apparently,  at  his  photograph. 
She  gave  a  great  start  as  he  entered. 

"  Well,  little  one,  did  grandma  tell  you  of  the  treat  I 
have  for  you  to-night  ?  " 

"  She  said  you  had  a  pleasant  surprise,"  answered 
Truth,  not  looking  at  him. 

"  It  is  nothing  less  than  a  Symphony  concert  with 
Lilli  Lehmann  as  soloist." 

Truth  barely  repressed  a  cry.  "  You  are  very  kind,  — 
but  —  I  don't  think  I  had  better  go." 

"  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  No  !     Not  very,  —  that  is  —  " 

Mrs.  Dexter's  voice  rose  from  the  sofa.  "  If  it  is  be- 
cause you  don't  want  to  leave  me,  darling,  I  must  tell 
you  that  I  shall  go  to  bed  right  after  dinner.  The  pack- 
ing has  tired  me.  Of  course  you  must  go,  when  Van 
has  taken  so  much  trouble  to  get  the  tickets  !  " 

Truth  felt  her  husband's  eyes  keen  upon  her.  Oh, 
why,  of  all  nights,  should  he  have  chosen  this  one  !  To 
hear  music,  and  with  him  !  It  was  more  than  she  could 
bear.  But  Mrs.  Dexter  must  be  thought  of  first.  Once 
she  was  safe  in  the  train,  nothing  would  matter. 

"  Then  I  will  go,"  she  answered.  "  Do  you  think 
this  dress  will  do  ?  " 

The  gown  she  had  chosen  was  soft,  clinging,  and 
scanty  in  effect.  The  material  was  of  gray  crepe  and 
across  the  entire  surface  were  sewn  detached  blossoms 
of  the  snowdrop,  those  little  flowers  like  a  half -closed 


THE    SCOURGE  277 

white  star,  with  a  dot  of  green  on  each  petal.  Just 
across  the  lower  edge  of  the  square  opening  at  the  throat 
was  a  great  band  and  bow  of  ink-blue  velvet.  Truth 
called  it  her  "  spring-storm  "  dress,  and  was  particularly 
fond  of  wearing  it. 

At  dinner  she  made  a  poor  pretence  of  eating,  but, 
of  herself,  called  for  champagne,  a  proceeding  which 
shocked  Mrs.  Dexter  greatly.  The  wine  forced  a  glow- 
ing crimson  into  her  pale  cheeks ;  Van  had  never  seen 
her  look  so  beautiful.  As  they  entered  their  suite,  after 
the  meal  was  over,  he  threw  his  arm  around  her,  strain- 
ing her  to  his  side,  arid  pressing  his  lips  to  the  fluffy  hair 
above  her  temple.  Was  he  dreaming?  —  or  had  she 
actually  shrunk  from  the  caress  ? 

"  It  is  time  to  start,"  he  said  a  little  coldly.  "  Go  and 
get  your  wraps !  You  can't  pretend  to  be  ill  with  those 
cheeks." 

Truth  went  into  her  room  and  began  putting  on  her 
things  like  an  automaton.  Her  face  in  the  mirror 
startled  her.  "  1  look  like  a  crazy  woman,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  I  wonder  if  I  am  really  going  to  be  crazy  ! " 

Suddenly,  with  her  wraps  half  buttoned,  she  flung 
herself  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed. 

"How  can  I  stand  it!  How  can  I  stand  it!"  she 
moaned.  "  Oh,  to  hear  music  to-night,  and  with  him  ! 
O  Father  in  Heaven  !  God  of  the  fatherless !  Help  me 
this  night  1  " 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

MUSIC   THAT   DID   NOT    SOOTHE 

THE  square  space  of  Boston's  Music  Hall  was  filled 
to  the  doors.  Dowagers  nodded  and  smiled  at  one 
another  as  they  entered  and  took  seats,  meek  husbands 
following  in  the  rear.  A  long  empty  row  in  the  very 
middle  of  the  first  floor  still  cried  for  occupants,  which 
were  now  forthcoming  in  the  person  of  a  stout  but  rigid 
Boston  "school-marm,"  well  known  as  proprietor  of  the 
most  fashionable  private  academy  in  the  city,  who  mar- 
shalled before  her  a  line  of  demure  misses,  flowers  culled 
from  the  "  first  families "  of  Louisiana,  Virginia,  New 
York,  California,  and  many  other  less  typical  states. 
When  all  had  found  proper  places  (not  without  much 
giggling  and  many  pretty  blushes,  you  may  be  sure),  the 
duenna  took  her  place  in  the  end  seat  with  a  determined 
thud,  like  the  fastening  of  a  lead  clasp  to  a  necklace  of 
jewels.  From  the  far  upper  gallery  wage-earners  and 
students  peered  down  with  interest  upon  the  cranial 
development  of  "  the  smart  set "  beneath. 

It  was  through  an  accident  that  Craighead  had  been 
able  to  get  places,  one  of  the  direct  results  of  Norton's 
absence  in  New  York,  the  younger  man  having  secured 
seats  long  before  for  himself  and  a  pretty  English  girl 
now  on  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Tooter.  They  were  quite  a  dis- 
tance back,  almost  under  the  clock  that  is  set  in  the 
middle  of  the  first  balcony,  and  Truth  was  conscious  of 
a  feeling  of  thankfulness  that  they  were  so  near  a  place 
of  exit.  They  had  scarcely  time  to  take  off  wraps  and 
sink  inconspicuously  into  the  whole,  when  a  clapping  of 
hands  announced  that  the  conductor  had  entered. 

This  gentleman  smiled  vaguely  toward  the  audience, 


MUSIC    THAT    DID    NOT    SOOTHE     279 

bowed,  mounted  his  pedestal,  and  turned  his  back.  The 
concentric  curves  of  musicians  that  faced  him  adjusted 
lips  and  finger-tips.  A  nervous  interval  followed,  a 
slight  signal  with  the  baton,  and  then  the  gorgeous  crash 
that  opens  one  of  Tschaikowsky's  most  famous  sym- 
phonies. 

It  was  a  brilliant  work  superbly  rendered,  but  to  one 
listener,  at  least,  wearisome  and  interminable.  Truth 
listened  because  she  could  not  help  herself.  Tschaikowsky 
is  not  easily  ignored.  The  theme  writhed  like  a  great 
serpent  against  the  background  of  her  own  loveless 
future ;  in  the  softer  passages  she  soothed  herself  with 
visions  of  death.  Once  she  felt  the  presence  of  two 
figures,  a  man  and  a  woman,  on  a  lonely  moonlit  beach. 

The  last  glittering  chords  of  the  symphony  seemed  the 
dashing  off  of  chains.  Truth  gave  a  great  breath  of  re- 
lief, and  was  able  to  answer  with  commonplace  politeness 
her  husband's  commonplace  observations.  Once  she 
caught  Mrs.  Adams's  eye  bent  upon  her  from  a  side  gal- 
lery. She  smiled  brightly,  and  nodded,  but  in  Mrs. 
Adams's  answering  smile  perplexity  and  sadness  were 
evident.  "  I  wonder  if  she  is  unhappy,  too,"  thought 
Truth. 

Two  of  Brahms's  songs  by  Lilli  Lehmann  were  next 
to  come.  The  prima-donna  entered  amid  hearty 
applause. 

She  was  a  tall  woman,  unusually  graceful  for  one  so 
stout.  Her  head  was  small  and  well  set.  Coming  to 
the  front  she  bowed  slightly,  clasped  her  hands  loosely 
before  her,  and  stood,  for  a  moment  of  silence,  the  image 
of  dignity  and  composure.  The  conductor  gave  an 
almost  imperceptible  movement  of  the  baton,  the  mu- 
sicians seemed  to  take  in  a  long  breath,  and  then,  some- 
where, —  from  some  place  in  heaven  or  earth,  —  a  low 
ground-swell  of  harmony  aroused  itself  and  began  to 
creep  toward  the  ears  of  the  audience.  Onward  it  came, 
subtler  and  yet  louder  with  each  instant,  in  waves  of 
sound,  with,  now  and  again,  mysterious  eddies  of  silence. 
Lehmann  threw  back  her  head,  gave  a  single  note  that 


280  TRUTH   DEXTER 

was  like  the  core  of  a  laugh,  and  plunged  into  the  tor- 
reiifc.  Her  song  was  a  sea-gull  with  sunlight  on  its 
wings.  From  wave-crest  to  wave-crest  it  skimmed  and 
dipped,  shaking  off  bright  drops  of  melody  at  each  fresh 
venture.  At  last  it  wearied,  and  the  tumult  of  sound 
wearied  also,  and  began  to  sob  and  moan  into  silence. 
Before  Truth's  excited  imagination  a  visible  sea  was 
stretched,  —  dull  and  quiet  now,  with  a  long  beach  that 
curved  in  the  moonlight  like  a  scimitar.  Two  figures 
stood  on  the  beach.  She  shivered,  and  threw  her 
thought  and  interest  outward,  to  meet  the  new  note 
that  Lehmann  was  loosing  from  her  throat.  It  was 
the  white  sea-gull  again,  balancing  above  the  cowed 
eternity  of  waves,  and  ready  for  flight  into  eternal 
silence. 

Truth  lost  herself  between  the  interval  of  this  song 
and  the  next.  The  latter  was  well  begun  before  she 
realized  that  she  was  listening.  The  same  troubled 
grayness  of  waves  began  it,  the  same  poise  and  dip  of 
wings ;  but  then  a  change  came,  —  earth  and  its  mate- 
rial seas  were  scorned  for  flight  into  a  mystery  that  lay 
beyond  all  horizons.  Now  it  was  spirits  of  the  air  that 
sang,  clasping  hands  in  a  circle  as  of  Fra  Angelico's 
visions  of  angels.  Truth  knew  the  stars  that  shone  on 
each  transfigured  forehead,  heard  the  soft  winds  of  Para- 
dise in  their  parted  locks,  smelled  the  pale  luminous 
blossoms  on  which  they  trod.  This  was  something  to 
have  lived  for, — to  have  suffered  for!  Could  grief 
alone  give  such  revelations?  She  longed  to  speak  to 
the  shapes,  perhaps  to  join  them,  —  but  beyond  the 
dance  of  joy  was  something  else,  and  this  drew  her,  — 
thrilled  her,  —  dragged  her  very  soul  from  its  house  of 
clay.  The  mists  parted  and  she  saw.  It  was  a  great, 
white,  lonely  angel  that  bowed  her  head  and  wept. 
Truth  heard  the  harp-notes  of  her  tears,  —  were  they 
the  same  that  now  ran  down  her  own  human  cheeks? 
And  was  it  her  guardian  angel  that  wept? 

A  single  note  began  to  recur,  —  to  dominate  all  themes, 
—  like  the  password  of  a  banished  soul.  There  it  was, 


MUSIC    THAT    DID    NOT    SOOTHE     281 

—  again  —  again!  "If  it  comes  once  more  I  cannot 
stand  it ! "  she  heard  herself  whisper.  Gray  clouds  swept 
in  and  blotted  out  all  visions.  They  drifted  so  close  that 
she  felt  their  chill  on  her  heart.  Behind  the  gray  cur- 
tain a  tumult  of  sound-mystery  strove.  And  the  note 
came  —  again  —  again  !  —  clear  and  piercing  as  from  a 
great  distance.  Truth  put  her  hands  to  her  ears,  and,  at 
the  curious  looks  that  her  neighbors  gave,  jerked  them 
down  again.  The  vast  audience  seemed  to  rise  and 
circle  about  her.  It  changed  to  a  sea  of  grinning  human 
skulls.  She  heard  a  dreadful  clapping  of  hands  ;  the 
sound  was  like  hail  upon  an  exposed  brain. 

"  Let  us  go  !  I  am  sick  !  "  she  gasped.  The  clutch 
on  Van's  arm  hurt  him.  He  gave  one  look  into  her 
face  and  rose. 

"  Are  you  able  to  walk  out  ?  " 

"  Yes  I     Yes  1     Don't  ask  me  !     Let  us  hurry  !  " 

She  flew  on  at  such  a  pace  that  he  could  scarcely  keep 
up.  As  they  reached  the  carriage,  "  Go  fast,  driver !  " 
she  called,  and  then  sprang  in  without  noticing  Van's 
proffered  hand.  Van  followed  more  deliberately.  He 
was  already  in  a  state  of  vague  irritation,  such  as  most 
men  feel  when  alarmed.  Neither  spoke  during  the  short 
drive.  He  could  hear  her  irregular,  excited  breathing. 

In  the  hotel  elevator  she  broke  silence.  "  Don't  wake 
grandma  I " 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  doing  so,  until  I  find  out  what 
is  the  matter  with  you." 

Her  excitement  deepened  as  they  entered  his  study; 
he  could  hear  her  teeth  chatter. 

His  first  move  was  to  pour  out  a  small  glass  of  brandy. 
*'  Drink  it !  "  he  commanded.  "  If  this  does  not  restore 
you  I  shall  telephone  for  a  physician." 

"  No  1  no  1  "  she  cried,  shrinking  from  him ;  but 
whether  she  meant  the  brandy  or  the  physician,  he 
could  not  be  sure. 

"  Drink  it  1 "  he  said  sternly,  and  held  the  glass  against 
her  lips.  She  drank  it  all. 

"  Now  go  to  bed  1 "  he  said  more  kindly.     "  You  have 


282  TRUTH    DEXTER 

had  a  nervous  shock  of  some  sort.  Don't  try  to  speak  of 
it  to-night !  " 

She  was  still  half  choked  with  the  brandy.  "No, 
wait  1  —  I  won't  —  go  !  "  she  managed  to  gasp. 

He  took  her  arm  and  led  her  toward  the  bedroom 
door.  "  You  shall  go !  You  are  on  the  verge  of  hys- 
teria now.  This  is  no  time  of  night  for  a  scene." 

She  flung  off  his  hand.  "  I  can't.  I  must  speak  now, 
I  must.  Let  me  speak  now  !  It  is  killing  me,  —  killing 
me ! " 

A  premonition  of  the  truth  flashed  into  Craighead's 
brain,  but  instead  of  clearing,  dazed  it.  "  Not  to-night, 
Truth  I  Take  my  advice  !  You  are  not  well  enough  to- 
night. I  should  never  have  taken  you  to  the  concert." 

"  Oh,  but  I  'm  glad  you  did,"  she  cried  a  little  wildly. 
"  I  could  never  have  told  you  if  it  had  n't  been  for  the 
music.  It  has  freed  me.  Oh,  Van  —  Van  1  Tell  me  the 
truth !  —  Do  you  love  Mrs.  Wiley  ?  " 

The  blow  had  fallen.  The  blood  rushed  from  Craig- 
head's  face  to  his  heart.  He  tried  to  steady  himself  for 
some  kind  of  answer ;  but  no  answer  came.  "  Who  has 
been  trying  to  poison  your  mind  with  this  tale  ?  "  he 
said,  at  length. 

"  That 's  not  the  question ! "  she  cried,  beating  her 
hands  together.  "  That 's  not  the  question !  Do  you 
love  her?  Did  you  go  to  her  house  by  the  sea  last 
summer  ?  Did  you  ?  —  oh,  I  'm  going  crazy  —  " 

"  You  are  crazy  now,"  said  her  husband.  "  Go  to 
bed,  Truth  !  There  's  a  good  child  !  " 

"  No  1  no  I  I  'm  not  a  good  child.  I  'm  not  a  child 
at  all.  I  'm  a  woman,  and  I  won't  be  put  aside." 

"  Truth  1  "  Craighead  tried  to  speak  quietly.  "  I  will 
tell  you  all  there  is  to  tell,  but  when  you  are  calmer. 
Do  not  try  to  force  this  question  now  !  " 

"  Then  it  is  so.  You  won't  deny  it.  You  can't  deny 
it  Oh,  what  shall  I  do,  —  what  shall  I  do  !  " 

"  I  think  you  '11  just  —  wait." 

Suddenly  she  became  white  and  calm  as  he.  "  Then 
you  refuse  to  explain  to  me  what  all  Boston  knows  and 


MUSIC    THAT    DID    NOT    SOOTHE     283 

is  laughing  at !  I,  your  wife,  am  a  laughing-stock  !  Do 
you  hear  that  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  am  not  accustomed  to  make  explanations 
at  the  point  of  a  pistol.  Truth  !  be  reasonable  !  Don't 
force  this  issue  now  !  I  'm  holding  myself  well  in,  but 
I  'm  not  a  patient  man — " 

"  Did  you  go  to  Ponkatuck?" 

"  I  refuse  to  answer." 

"  You  dare  not  answer.     You  're  afraid  !  " 

Van  bit  his  underlip  and  felt  his  nostrils  shake.  He 
turned  toward  the  door.  "  I  shall  go  to  my  club  for  the 
night." 

Quick  as  thought  she  was  against  the  door,  her  back 
pressed  against  it,  her  eyes  gleaming  at  him  like  those 
of  an  infuriated  tigress. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  tell  me  this,  then,  before  you  go. 
Did  you  kiss  that  woman  —  last  summer  —  any  time 
after  I  had  become  your  wife?" 

Craighead  was  struck  dumb.  This  revelation  made 
useless  further  inquiries  as  to  the  origin  of  Truth's  suspi- 
cions. Only  Orchid  could  have  done  this.  The  moments 
throbbed  on  in  silence.  Each  was  a  soundless  death- 
knell.  At  last  Craighead  spoke.  "  Yes,  I  kissed  her." 

Truth  threw  her  hands  to  her  heart.  The  man  hurried 
on,  breathlessly. 

"  But  only  once,  Truth,  —  and  in  justice  to  her  —  " 

Truth  was  reeling ;  he  sprang  forward. 

"Don't  touch  me  !     Don't  come  near  me !  " 

She  recovered  herself.  "  And  now,  perhaps  you  will 
condescend  to  tell  me  your  real  motives  for  marrying  me. 
I  thought  it  chivalry,  disinterested  kindness ! " 

The  bitter  contempt  in  her  voice  effaced  in  an  instant 
all  self-reproach  and  pity  in  Craighead's  soul. 

"  Truth !  have  a  care  !     Do  not  drive  me  too  far !  " 

"  If  you  wanted  to  keep  on  kissing  her,  why  did  you 
marry  me  ?  " 

Van  struck  his  clenched  hand  against  a  chair.  The 
frail  wood  shattered. 

"  My  God !  "  he  panted.     "  Are  all  women  devils  ?  " 


284  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Why  did  you  marry  me  ?  "  came  again  the  pitiless 
young  voice  at  the  door. 

"  Perhaps  your  informants  have  been  kind  enough  to 
enlighten  you." 

"  They  have !  "  said  Truth  between  set  teeth.  "  It 
was  money !  You  married  me  to  get  the  money  I " 

Van  quivered  in  every  muscle.  A  sort  of  nervous 
ague  passed  over  him ;  then  he,  too,  became  calm. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  recollect,  Mrs.  Craighead,  that 
even  at  the  moment  of  soliciting  your  hand  in  marriage 
I  gave  you  the  liberty  to  annul  at  will  all  my  rights 
over  you.  I  reiterate  that  statement  now." 

"  And  did  you  think  I  would  n't  take  advantage  of  it  ? 
You  have  tricked  me  and  lied  to  me !  I  shall  go  back 
with  grandma." 

u  I  have  neither  tricked  you  nor  lied  to  you,  as  you 
will  see  when  you  come  to  your  senses.  You  will  do 
me  the  justice  of  admitting  that,  even  before  this,  I 
urged  you  to  go." 

"  Oh,  you  urged  me  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  see  the  reason 
of  it  now.  You  will  be  free  to  go  to  —  her! "  Van  saw 
that  she  shivered,  and  that  her  face  grew,  if  possible, 
more  pinched  and  white.  But  there  was  no  room  left 
for  pity,  and  he  answered  nothing. 

"  I  would  like  to  ask  one  favor  of  you,  Mr.  Craighead. 
Please  say  nothing  of  this  to  grandma  until  after  we  are 
gone." 

Van  bowed  assent. 

"  And  there  is  another  thing,"  she  went  on  hurriedly. 
"  I  've  thought  about  it  for  a  long  time,  but  now  it  is  all 
clear.  It  has  cursed  us  both  from  the  beginning.  Oh, 
I  wish  from  my  heart  that  I  had  never  seen  you,  or 
taken  it." 

"  You  are  not  lucid,"  said  Van,  darkly. 

"  It  is  my  Uncle  Eugene's  money.  The  blood- 
money  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  have  been  living  on  it  and  it 
has  cursed  me.  My  grandfather  in  heaven  has  turned 
his  face  from  me.  I  could  never  have  gone  on  using  it, 
even  if  —  there  hadn't  been  a  Mrs.  Wiley." 


MUSIC    THAT    DID    NOT    SOOTHE     285 

Craighead  was  now  thoroughly  sobered.  He  felt  in- 
stinctively that  this  would  be  the  harder  of  the  two 
obstacles  to  overcome. 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  with  the  estate,  if  I 
may  ask  ?  " 

"  I  will  make  over  the  money  to  you,  —  every  cent  of 
it.  You  know  I  wanted  to  do  this  from  the  first.  Then 
you  will  be  free,  for  I  will  never  live  and  share  it  with 
you  again.  I  don't  know  about  grandma.  If  she  is 
willing  to  receive  an  income  from  you,  I  believe  you  will 
be  generous  enough  to  give  it." 

"  And  yourself,  —  how  will  you  live  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  all  that,  too.  The  advantages  of 
travel  and  education  that  I  have  received  cannot  be 
given  back.  The  only  atonement  left  is  to  use  them 
for  the  benefit  of  my  poor  South.  It  will  be  easy  for 
me  now  to  start  a  school  near  Dexterville,  and  there  I 
can  earn  enough  to  support  myself,  and  soon  begin  to 
pay  back  to  you  some  of  the  money  already  spent." 

"  It 's  a  piece  of  idiotic  sentimentality  ! "  cried  the 
man,  angrily.  "  Do  you  think  I  would  be  fool  enough 
to  allow  it  ?  You  will  think  differently  when  you  come 
to  your  senses."  He  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
room. 

"  I  have  just  come  to  my  senses.  The  money  is  yours, 
I  tell  you !  I  '11  never  touch  it  again.  You  have  urged 
me  to  go  with  grandma,  as  you  say,  and  —  I  need  never 
come  back  to  trouble  you,  or  be  in  your  way." 

"  Don't  you  know  that  I  can't  take  your  money,  even 
if  I  were  so  low  as  to  wish  it  ?  If  you  refuse,  it  goes  to 
a  statue  of  Abraham  Lincoln." 

She  pondered  a  moment,  then  answered  slowly,  "I  — 
think  —  not.  When  the  money  was  once  accepted  for 
me,  that  destroyed  all  chance  of  the  statue,  no  matter 
what  was  done  afterward." 

Van  was  pleased  with  her  acuteness,  but  he  did  not 
reply. 

"  Is  n't  it  true  ?  "  she  urged.  "  Can't  I  do  anything 
with  it  now  that  I  please?" 


286  TRUTH   DEXTER 

"  You  omit  one  trifling  point.  I  am  your  legal  guar- 
dian until  you  come  of  age.  You  can  do  nothing  with- 
out my  approval." 

She  looked  a  little  frightened.  "  Can't  I  even  settle 
it  upon  you  without  your  consent  ?  " 

"  You  cannot."  He  stopped  walking  and  watched  her 
face  "narrowly.  For  a  long  moment  the  dark  brows  were 
together  in  a  frown,  then  her  face  cleared.  "  I  think  I 
am  glad  of  that ! " 

"Why?" 

She  shook  her  head.     "  I  could  n't  tell  you  in  words." 

Van  resumed  his  impatient  walking  up  and  down. 
He  did  not  pause  to  look  into  her  face  as  he  said,  — 

"  Truth,  you  have  allowed  these  two  foolish  issues 
of  your  uncle's  estate  and  —  er  —  Mrs.  Wiley  to  get 
tangled  strangely  and  fatally  in  your  mind.  Listen  to 
me!  You  are  tamely  yielding  yourself  a  victim  to  Mrs. 
Wiley's  subtle  and  malignant  plan  to  separate  us.  I 
hope  to  God  that  I  shall  never  see  Mrs.  Wiley  again. 
I  do  not  love  her  !  I  hate  her  !  And  as  for  marrying 
you,  I  scorn  the  insinuation  of  mercenary  motives. 
There  is  but  one  real  issue  between  us,  —  are  you  going 
to  persist  in  this  absurd  idea  of  using  no  more  of  your 
uncle's  money?" 

"  I  am,"  she  said.  "  Nothing  can  change  me  in  that. 
And  I  am  going  now  with  grandma,  in  any  case." 

"  And  how  do  you  propose  to  buy  even  your  tickets  ?  " 

Truth  threw  back  her  head  and  gave  a  little  startled 
breath.  "  That  is  so ! "  she  said,  as  if  to  herself.  Then 
she  moved  away  swiftly  from  the  door  and  went  up  to 
Van.  "  Won't  you,  —  just  until  we  get  this  settled,  — 
won't  you  promise  to  pay  for  everything, — yourself?" 

"  That 's  what  I  have  been  doing  with  all  our  regular 
household  expenses,  Truth,  and  shall  continue  to  do  after 
you  go  away." 

Truth  hung  her  head.  "  I  should  like  to  pay  that 
back  to  you,  too." 

Van  scowled.  "  People  can't  annul  the  legal  respon- 
sibilities of  marriage  so  easily  as  you  seem  to  think.  It 


MUSIC    THAT    DID    NOT    SOOTHE     28T 

is  my  duty  to  support  you  as  well  as  I  can  afford,  even 
though  your  uncle's  fortune  is  sunk  to  the  bottom  of 
the  sea." 

"  You  must  understand,"  Truth  said  hurriedly,  "  that 
if  you  take  the  money  for  yourself,  even  though  we  are 
separated,  I  cannot  accept  a  cent  of  support  from  you. 
It  must  be  a  break  between  us,  forever." 

"  You  are  mad,"  he  said,  but  with  more  weariness  than 
anger.  "  Go  to  the  South  for  a  few  days.  It  will  be 
best  for  both  of  us.  Maybe  you  can  see  a  little  clearer 
off  there  to  yourself.  You  will  come  to  your  senses  in 
time." 

"  I  shall  never  change  on  this  point,  and  you  know  it. 
Don't  count  on  that." 

"  I  count  on  nothing,"  he  said.  "  I  merely  take  all 
chances.  Shall  it  be  a  truce  between  us  until  the  de- 
cision is  reached?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  am  so  tired  now,  —  so  tired. 
Are  you  going  to  your  club  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  moved  toward  the  door,  and  this  time  she  made  no 
attempt  to  interfere,  but  followed  at  some  distance.  In 
the  little  entrance  hall  she  tried  to  lift  his  coat,  but  her 
hands  trembled  so  that  it  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  Go  to  bed,  Truth,"  he  said  in  a  kind  tone.  "  You 
look  perfectly  exhausted. " 

She  tried  to  speak,  —  tried  to  force  some  sound  to  her 
lips,  but  a  sudden  suffocation  was  upon  her.  She  threw 
her  hands  out  toward  him,  but  he  was  drawing  the  heavy 
coat  about  him  and  did  not  see. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said  pleasantly,  and  went  out  with- 
out looking  around. 

In  another  moment  Mrs.  Dexter  was  aroused  by  the 
sound  of  a  fall,  and  hurried  in  to  find  Truth  in  a  dead 
faint  on  the  floor  of  her  bedroom. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

FAREWELLS 

AT  the  breakfast-table,  next  morning,  all  three  were 
somewhat  nervous  and  ill  at  ease,  for  although  Truth 
took  pains  to  remark  more  than  once  that  she  was  per- 
fectly well,  and  felt  no  evil  results  from  her  evening's 
excitement,  her  pale  cheeks  and  heavy  eyes  belied  her. 
Once  or  twice  she  seemed  on  the  point  of  making  a  dis- 
closure, but  a  glance  at  Craighead's  dark  face  checked 
her. 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  made  you  go  last  night,"  said  Mrs. 
Dexter,  regretfully. 

"  I  echo  the  wish,"  was  Van's  grim  reply. 

"  But  I  don't !  "  cried  Truth.  "  I  'm  glad  I  went. 
The  music  was  superb.  Van  and  I  came  home  early, 
and  had  a  long  talk  about  things."  She  gave  Van  a 
look  of  miserable  defiance. 

"  You  are  not  yourself  at  all,  Truth,"  said  Mrs.  Dexter 
in  the  tone  of  one  whose  mind  is  made  up.  "  I  never 
saw  you  look  so  sick.  I  shall  not  go  South  and  leave 
you." 

"  But  that  is  the  good  news  I  have  to  tell  you.  We 
decided  last  night  that  I  was  to  go  too.  You  know  that 
Mr.  Craighead  has  urged  it  from  the  first." 

A  slight  smile  trembled  at  the  corners  of  Craighead's 
clean-shaven  lips.  He  looked  steadily  into  Truth's  eyes 
for  an  instant  and  then  said  to  Mrs.  Dexter,  "  Yes,  it  is 
true  that  I  think  Truth  had  better  go  with  you.  She  is 
not  herself,  —  and  the  trip  will  be  the  best  thing  for  all 
of  us." 

Truth  felt  as  if  she  had  heard  her  own  death-sentence 
read  aloud. 


FAREWELLS  289 

"  Now,  my  dear  Van,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  that  is  very 
kind  and  thoughtful  of  you,  but  I  am  not  going  to  let 
you  two  young  people  sacrifice  yourselves  for  me.  I 
know  how  you  need  Truth  just  now  —  Truth  inter- 
rupted with  an  hysterical  little  laugh. 

"  I  shall  not  let  my  own  personal  desires  interfere 
with  any  plans  I  may  have  to  make  for  Truth,"  said 
Craighead,  with  a  meaning  lost  on  Mrs.  Dexter.  "  She 
is  ill,  and  I  honestly  believe  a  change  to  the  South  will 
be  the  best  thing  for  her." 

"  I  fear  you  are  sacrificing  yourself,"  persisted  the  old 
lady. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  be  thinking  about  me  at  all,"  said 
Truth,  her  lips  beginning  to  quiver. 

"  My  darling  child !  What  on  earth  have  I  got  but 
you !  I  was  going  to  give  up  my  trip  for  the  present, 
until  you  were  better." 

"  No,  no  !  Let 's  go  —  let 's  go  home  I  Boston  is  so 
cold  and  hard  —  " 

"  Oh,  hush,  dear !  You  don't  know  what  you  are  say- 
ing I  "  whispered  Mrs.  Dexter  with  a  frightened  look 
toward  Van. 

rt  Van  does  n't  care  ! "  cried  Truth,  with  the  reckless- 
ness of  utter  misery.  "  Do  you  care,  Van  ?  " 

Van  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  inscrutable  eyes. 
The  same  slight  smile  trembled  at  the  corner  of  his  lips. 
For  a  moment  he  did  not  speak,  and  she  gazed  back  into 
his  masterful  face  with  thoughts  that  were  a  screaming 
rookery  of  doubts,  fears,  jealousies,  and  love.  Never 
had  she  loved  him  as  at  that  instant.  She  could  have 
fallen  at  his  feet,  asking  leave  to  die  there  for  the  bliss 
of  death  near  him.  She  could  have  been  his  servant,  his 
dog,  his  worn-out  glove.  She  did  not  care  whether  he 
had  kissed  Mrs.  Wiley  or  not,  —  she  did  not  care  how 
many  women  he  had  kissed.  In  some  horrible  way  it 
seemed  to  enhance  his  value.  Then  the  thought  came, 
"  He  will  never  give  up  the  money  for  me,  —  and  if  he 
takes  it,  will  God  make  me  keep  on  loving,  like  this,  a 
man  that  I  must  despise?  " 

19 


290  TRUTH   DEXTER 

This  inward  question,  together  with  the  one  to  Van, 
was  destined  never  to  gain  an  answer.  Craighead  leaned 
toward  her  suddenly,  and  said  in  a  low  voice :  "  You  are 
betraying  yourself.  Drop  your  eyes,  and  pretend  to  be 
eating.  People  are  turning  around." 

It  was  Sunday  morning.  All  over  the  city  church- 
bells  were  clamoring  rival  invitations.  Mrs.  Dexter 
announced  her  intention  of  going  to  service,  and  invited 
the  young  couple  to  accompany  her.  Van  answered  for 
both :  — 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  but  if  Truth  is  to  leave  with 
you  Tuesday  evening,  she  has  not  any  too  much  time  left 
for  packing.  My  share  of  the  work  lies  at  the  office  and 
the  freight  depot.  I  shall  have  to  be  away  most  of  the 
time." 

Truth  followed  him  to  the  door,  and  made  a  pretence 
of  helping  with  his  overcoat.  "  Thank  you.  Is  there 
anything  you  wish  to  say  ?  " 

Truth  could  not  meet  his  eyes.  "  Will  you  decide  — 
soon  ?  "  she  faltered. 

"  Probably ;  but  I  must  have  leisure  and  calm.  You, 
too,  have  something  to  decide,  I  presume." 

"I  —  I  —  "  she  began. 

"  Wait  until  you  get  home  and  can  think  it  out  undis- 
turbed," he  said  in  a  kind  voice.  "  It  is  for  this  that  I 
have  decided  to  let  you  go.  It  will  be  best  for  both  of 
us."  He  stooped  and  kissed  her  as  one  kisses  a  child. 

A  strange,  new  excitement  took  possession  of  the  young 
wife.  Running  back  to  the  rooms  she  began  chattering 
to  her  grandmother  of  home,  and  the  presents  they  were 
to  give,  and  the  things  they  would  need  to  take  for  them- 
selves, until  the  old  lady  was  fairly  carried  off  her  feet. 
When  the  church  hour  came,  and  Mrs.  Dexter  had  to 
leave,  Truth  was  emptying,  with  frenzied  haste,  the  little 
black  battered  trunk  that  she  had  owned  as  Truth 
Dexter.  Heaps  of  clothing  lay  about  as  if  just  deposited 
by  a  blizzard. 

"  Don't  tire  yourself  out,  darling ! "  was  the  last  loving 
injunction. 


FAREWELLS  291 

Left  to  herself,  Truth's  excitement  died  away  as 
quickly  as  it  had  come.  She  forgot  her  packing,  sank  to 
a  sitting  posture  on  the  floor,  and  drooped  her  head  in 
thought.  After  a  long  while  she  rose,  locked  the  door 
that  led  into  the  outer  hall,  and  went  slowly  into  her 
bedroom.  The  door  of  the  little  library  next  to  it  stood 
wide  open.  She  could  see  his  desk,  the  books,  her  little 
cushioned  stool.  "I  am  going  away,"  she  said  aloud. 
"  I  shall  never  see  these  rooms  again.  I  shall  never  see 
him  again.  I  wonder  why  I  don't  suffer." 

She  went  to  the  bed  and  put  her  face  against  his  pillow. 
Here  she  remained  quiet  for  a  long  time.  "  No,"  she 
whispered,  at  length,  "  I  can't  suffer,  even  here.  I  have 
used  up  all  the  ache  already.  I  thought  I  loved  him, 
but  maybe  I  can't  love  anybody.  All  I  can  think  of  is 
that  he  won't  be  sorry.  No  wonder  he  can't  love  me 
when  I  am  so  heartless !  " 

From  the  bedroom  she  passed  into  the  study  and  began 
to  arrange  the  pretty  trinkets  that  she  had  bought  for  his 
desk.  In  the  midst  of  the  work  a  strange  dizziness,  such 
as  she  had  felt  many  times  during  the  past  few  months, 
swept  over  her  with  relentless  force.  She  sank,  half- 
fainting,  into  Van's  big  leather  chair,  and  the  next 
sound  of  which  she  became  conscious  was  her  grand- 
mother's knock  at  the  locked  outer  door. 

Van  did  not  return  to  luncheon.  During  that  long 
afternoon,  in  which  Mrs.  Dexter  was,  for  the  most  part, 
engrossed  in  her  own  packing,  Truth's  numbed  conscious- 
ness began  to  rouse  itself.  The  full  significance  of  her 
conversation  the  night  before  came  as  a  shock.  She  had 
been  the  one  to  force  an  ultimatum  which  was  to  decide 
the  whole  of  her  future  life,  and  affect  many  besides  her- 
self. She  did  not  waver  from  her  determination  to  live 
no  longer  on  her  uncle's  money,  but  now  more  important, 
more  fundamental,  more  excoriating  than  any  issue  built 
on  worldly  affairs,  seemed  the  blasting  revelation  im- 
plied in  that  one  admission,  "  I  kissed  her  !  "  No  wonder 
that  she  had  fallen  as  at  a  physical  blow.  Yet,  an  hour 
ago,  at  breakfast,  this  most  horrible  thought  had  been 


TRUTH   DEXTER 

blotted  out  in  the  agony  of  her  own  personal  love.  Was 
she  losing  her  senses  ?  Could  any  human  intellect  en- 
dure such  extremes  of  emotion,  —  such  ruthless  temper- 
ing of  fibre  ? 

Truth's  head  dropped  with  a  groan.  The  man  she 
loved  and  to  whom  she  was  married  had  kissed  his 
friend's  wife.  There  was  the  bare  fact,  with  shame 
enough  for  all  concerned ;  but  apart  from  shame,  what 
right  had  she  to  resent  the  infidelity  ?  From  the  first  he 
had  made  it  plain  enough  that  love  for  herself  played  no 
part  in  the  marriage.  Pity,  perhaps,  and  chivalry,  but 
not  love.  Mrs.  Adams  had  hinted,  long  ago,  on  that 
dreadful  day  of  storm,  that  it  was  pique,  and  —  money, 
—  but  hell  itself  would  be  too  small  to  hold  the  horror 
of  this  belief !  He  had  said  that  his  heart  was  charred. 
Whence,  then,  the  spark  that  had  flashed  into  a  kiss  ? 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  all  these  new  books  ?  "  called 
Mrs.  Dexter  from  the  next  room. 

"  No,  none  of  the  new  ones.  None  of  the  new  things 
at  all.  Only  the  old  things  I  brought  from  home." 

Mrs.  Dexter  was  taking  all  of  her  own  possessions,  the 
Colonel's  picture,  her  rocking-chair,  work  table,  and 
everything.  "  It  is  so  easy  to  bring  them  back,  you 
know,"  she  had  said  apologetically.  Truth  smiled  sadly ; 
she  knew  well  enough  that  never  again  would  the  aris- 
tocratic Hanover  shelter  those  old-fashioned  Southern 
treasures. 

Van,  as  was  usual  in  such  emergencies,  showed  him- 
self a  tower  of  strength.  And  if  details  of  preparation 
kept  him  away  most  of  the  time,  Mrs.  Dexter  was,  her- 
self, too  busy  to  notice  or  comment  upon  it. 

Truth's  decision  to  go  had 'been  so  sudden  that  only 
her  immediate  circle  of  friends  could  be  informed  of  the 
fact.  Norton  took  a  flying  train  from  New  York  the 
moment  he  heard  of  it ;  and  Monday  evening  (the  day 
before  starting)  this  volatile  youth,  together  with  old 
Craighead,  Mrs.  Adams  and  her  Judge,  spent  the  even- 
ing at  the  Hanover. 

Norton  was  the  last  to  arrive.     Mrs.  Adams  had  been 


FAREWELLS  293 

very  uneasy  in  mind  concerning  Truth,  ever  since  the 
warning  about  Orchid,  and  the  news  of  the  unexpected 
departure  had  increased  her  fears.  Her  first  question  on 
entering  was,  "What  made  you  change  your  mind  so 
suddenly  ?  You  told  me  that  nothing  could  induce  you 
to  leave  Van  and  the  book." 

Truth's  eyes  fell.  "  I  felt  so  much  sicker,"  she  mur- 
mured, "that  we  all  thought  I  had  better  go  for  a 
change." 

"  How  long  do  you  intend  to  desert  the  hub  of  the 
universe?" 

"  That  is  n't  decided  yet." 

Mrs.  Adams  saw  that  Van  was  watching  them.  She 
drew  Truth  aside.  "  I  've  been  a  good  deal  worried  about 
what  I  said  to  you  of  that  red-headed  Wiley  woman. 
There  may  not  be  a  word  of  truth  in  it  after  all.  No 
doubt  she 's  dangerous,  but  she  can't  do  you  any  harm. 
Everybody  can  see  that  Van  is  dead  in  love  with  you." 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  cried  Truth,  sharply,  her  face  like  ashes. 

Old  Mr.  Craighead  came  in  at  this  instant,  and  Truth 
broke  from  her  friend  to  welcome  him. 

But  Mrs.  Adams  was  far  from  being  satisfied.  When 
the  new  bustle  had  subsided  she  looked  around  for  Van. 
The  Judge  and  Mrs.  Dexter  were  exchanging  old- 
fashioned  compliments  in  a  nook  by  the  fireside.  Truth 
had  taken  possession  of  her  parent-in-law,  and  was  in- 
viting him  to  come  South  and  see  what  real  life  was 
like,  while  Van  stood  alone,  within  the  pink-lighted 
circle  of  a  tall  piano  lamp,  his  elbow  on  a  corner  of  the 
piano.  Mrs.  Adams  stared  a  moment;  she  had  never 
before  thought  of  him  as  a  handsome  man,  but  the  dark 
beauty  of  his  face  now  startled  her.  "  No  wonder  that 
Orchid  Wiley  can't  bear  to  give  him  up,  and  that  my 
poor  little  Truth  is  eating  her  heart  out  with  jealousy," 
she  thought. 

"  Well,  Sir  Benedict !  How  is  it  that  you  are  letting 
Truth  go  in  the  very  midst  of  the  book,  —  not  to  men- 
tion her  social  season  ?  " 

Van's  smile  of  welcome  died.     "It  is  practically  of 


294  TRUTH    DEXTER 

her  own  choice,  though  her  ill  health  has  made  me  ad- 
vise it." 

"Probably  the  poor  child  would  be  better  for  a 
change,"  said  the  other  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone.  "  She 
has  been  miserable  of  late.  She  ran  in  to  see  me  a  few 
mornings  ago,  —  that  day  of  the  storm,  if  you  '11  remem- 
ber, —  when  you  telephoned.  It  was  no  weather  for  her 
to  be  out  in.  When  she  first  came  in  she  was  so  flushed 
and  excited  that  I  did  not  realize  how  pale  and  thin  she 
really  was." 

Van  inclined  his  head  in  polite  attention.  Mrs. 
Adams's  voice  lowered.  "  On  that  day  I  said  something 
to  her  that  I  have  bitterly  regretted." 

Van  flashed  a  look  into  her  face,  and  took  his  elbow 
from  the  piano. 

"  I  might  as  well  confess  and  have  done  with  it  —  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better." 

"  Well,  then,  I  warned  her  of  a  danger  of  which  I  had 
recently  heard.  It  concerned  Orchid  Wiley." 

Van  gave  an  imperceptible  start.  "  And  what  could 
have  been  the  danger?" 

"  Oh,  only  woman's  weapons,  —  slander,  and  malicious 
hints.  She  is  undoubtedly  an  enemy  to  Truth.  I  said 
just  enough  to  put  Truth  on  her  guard." 

"  How  did  Truth  take  it  ?  " 

"  So  quietly  that  I  was  deceived ,  and  went  further 
than  I  had  intended.  At  the  last  she  told  me  that  Mrs. 
Wiley  had  been  to  the  Hanover  two  days  before,  and 
tried  to  insinuate  —  things." 

Van's  face  was  alert.  "  Two  days  before,"  he  re- 
peated, as  if  to  himself.  "  That  was  Tuesday.  Yes, 
the  change  in  Truth  began  then !  I  could  wish,  Mrs. 
Adams,  that  you  had  told  me  sooner." 

"  It 's  the  first  time  I  have  seen  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Adams,  plaintively.  "  Oh,  don't  tell  me  that  harm  has 
already  been  done  I  You  and  Truth  are  like  my  own 
children." 

"Don't  trouble  yourself  an  instant.  The  difficulty 
must  have  arisen  sooner  or  later,  and  it  has  complica- 


FAREWELLS  295 

tions  that  you  do  not  know."  Mrs.  Adams  looked  so 
horrified  that  he  hastened  to  add :  "  The  complications 
have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  Mrs.  Wiley  or  with 
what  you  said  to  Truth.  They  refer  to  her  own  private 
convictions.  The  mischief  that  Mrs.  Wiley  has  made 
serves  only  as  a  sort  of  fuse  to  a  powder-magazine." 

Mrs.  Adams  gave  a  sound  that  was  half  a  sob.  "  Oh, 
Van,  don't  be  angry !  Don't  think  me  an  old  meddler, 
—  but  you  must  not  let  that  red-head  —  that  —  er  — 
vain  Mrs.  Wiley  come  between  you  and  your  sweet 
young  wife !  You  don't  appreciate  Truth  yet !  —  the 
dearest,  gentlest,  most  trusting  child  — "  Van  inter- 
rupted with  a  mirthless  laugh. 

"  Perhaps  she  is  not  so  gentle  and  trusting  as  you 
think." 

"  But  she  is ! "  insisted  the  peacemaker,  almost  in 
tears.  "  She  has  n't  a  wish  or  a  desire  apart  from  you. 
Look  at  her  now,  with  those  big  eyes  and  that  pathetic 
mouth!  How  can  any  man  help  adoring  a  child  like 
that?" 

Van's  glance  followed  that  of  his  companion  to  the 
spot  where  Truth  stood.  She  was  leaning  against  a 
chair  as  if  for  support,  her  face  directly  toward  Van, 
but  her  eyes  raised  to  meet  those  of  the  elder  Craig- 
head,  who  was  explaining  something  in  his  caustic, 
deliberate  way.  She  looked  scarcely  more  than  sixteen. 
She  was  utterly  unconscious  of  observation,  and  in  that 
childish,  listening  attitude  seemed  so  pathetically  inno- 
cent and  untried  that  Van's  heart  sank  and  his  pride 
faltered.  "  She  is  only  a  child,  after  all,"  he  thought. 
"What  have  I  given  her  for  her  love,  her  confidence, 
and  her  fortune  ?  "  All  at  once  he  felt  himself  to  be 
old  beyond  the  magic  touch  of  youth,  to  be  hardened, 
and  unspeakably  tired  of  life. 

Mrs.  Adams  was  watching  his  face  keenly,  but  before 
either  could  speak  the  sound  of  quick  footsteps  in  the 
corridor  turned  all  attention  to  the  door.  A  succession 
of  knocks  played  on  the  wooden  panel,  and  the  electric, 
bell  whirred  as  if  in  a  fit. 


296  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Quincy !  "  burst  from  more  than  one  pair  of  smiling 
lips. 

It  was  indeed  Quincy  and  no  other.  He  was,  as  usual, 
jaunty  and  good  to  look  at.  In  his  hand  he  bore  a  small 
but  exquisite  bunch  of  lilies  of  the  valley.  He  greeted 
each  member  of  the  little  circle  with  some  characteristic 
and  appropriate  sally,  but  his  smile  faded  a  little  as  he 
approached  Truth. 

"  Are  you  really  going  to  leave  at  this  short  notice, 
Mrs.  Craighead  ?  I  say  it 's  a  shame  !  You  don't  even 
give  a  fellow  time  enough  to  work  up  an  unpremeditated 
address  of  farewell." 

Truth  laughed.  Her  face  always  brightened  more 
than  she  knew  when  Norton  was  around. 

" '  I  'm  gwine  to  Alabamy,  an'  dare  I  'm  gwine  to 
stay,'  "  she  sang  teasingly. 

Norton  pretended  indignation.  "  Oh,  I  can  finish  it ! 
I've  heard  it  often  enough.  'An'  fum  my  heart  I'ze 
sorry,  dat  I  ever  kum  away ! ' ' 

"  Just  so,"  responded  Truth,  gravely. 

"  But  what  is  Van  thinking  of  to  let  you  go  roaming 
all  over  creation  without  him  ?  He  's  a  cork-man  1  He  's 
no  good ! " 

"  Maybe  he  '11  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  me." 

" '  Mebbe  so,  avC  mebbe  not,'  as  they  say  up  in  Ver- 
mont. But  if  he  is,  I  '11  take  down  the  thermometer  of 
my  regard  for  him.  Below  freezing  is  the  mark  !  " 

Van  sauntered  toward  them.  "  Suppose  you  ask  Truth 
how  she  could  endure  the  thought  of  leaving  me  !  The 
Boston  wife  makes  her  own  decisions,  as  you  know." 

"  Hear !  hear !  "  cried  the  Judge  from  his  corner. 

"But  she  is  not  a  Boston  wife,  —  that's  just  the 
point!"  cried  Norton.  "No  offence  meant,  Mrs. 
Adams ! " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  half  Southern,"  said  that  lady,  cheerfully. 
"  I  '11  turn  the  other  cheek." 

"  Quincy,  you  are  bound  to  get  yourself  into  trouble 
to-night,"  interposed  Truth.  "  Come  over  to  this  cor- 
ner ;  I  must  give  you  some  sisterly  advice  before  I  start." 


FAREWELLS  297 

They  walked  side  by  side  to  a  corner  in  which  was  a 
divan  half  surrounded  by  growing  plants.  Every  eye  in 
the  room  followed.  Truth  was  tall,  but  Norton  nearly 
a  head  taller.  Both  were  beautiful,  and  fair,  and  young. 
Norton's  curls  were  the  exact  color  of  Truth's  fluffy 
hair,  and  his  fine  mouth  might  have  been  cut  by  the 
same  master-sculptor.  "  What  a  perfect  couple !  "  thought 
Mrs.  Adams,  and  then  came  to  herself  with  a  guilty 
start.  She  turned  her  eyes  toward  Craighead.  He  was 
staring  at  the  two  with  a  look  that  pierced  the  kind  soul 
who  watched  him.  A  flash  of  inspiration  flashed  into 
her  brain.  "  He  loves  her  more  than  he  knows.  This 
visit  South  is  not  a  visit,  but  a  possible  separation,  per- 
haps even  a  divorce.  Oh,  something  must  be  done  to 
prevent  this  disaster  I  It  will  do  Orchid  Wiley  too  much 
good!" 

Truth  and  Norton  had  seated  themselves  and  were  gaz- 
ing into  each  other's  eyes  in  frank  and  evident  delight. 
Norton  was  now  about  the  only  person  with  whom  Truth 
dropped  into  the  old  familiar  Southern  speech.  To  her 
it  was  relief,  to  him  unmistakable  pleasure.  He  had 
caught  up  many  of  her  quaint  phrases,  and  had  even 
acquired  a  fair  imitation  of  darky  dialect. 

"  Did  you  know  that  you  had  n't  given  me  the  flowers 
yet  ?  "  said  Truth.  "  Or,  maybe,  you  did  n't  bring  them 
for  me !  " 

Norton  lifted  the  bunch  slowly  and  stared  into  it  as 
he  answered:  "Yes,  I  brought  them  for  you.  They 
have  always  reminded  me  of  you  from  the  first." 

"  Oh,  no  1 "  she  protested.  "  They  are  too  sweet  and 
pure  for  me.  Besides,  they  are  not  a  Gulf-coast  flower, 
—  they  don't  grow  any  lower  down  than  Tennessee  and 
Virginia.  But  I  love  them  best  of  all  the  flowers  you 
have  up  here.  Somehow,  they  always  make  me  think 
of  —  tears." 

"  What  has  made  you  decide  to  go  South  ? "  asked 
Norton,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

Truth  glanced  once  into  his  face,  then  lowered  her 
eyes.  "  Oh,  Quin,  don't  ask  me !  You  will  find  it  all 


298  TRUTH    DEXTER 

out  some  time.  I  was  goin'  to  come  to  you  with  every- 
thing, but  you  were  in  New  York.  It 's  too  late  now ! 
Let 's  play  now  that  it  was  just  homesickness  and  the 
chance  of  goin'  with  grandma  that  made  me  decide." 

Norton  did  not  attempt  a  reply. 

"  And  it  was  homesickness,"  she  went  on  eagerly. 
"I  just  tremble  at  the  thought  of  getting  into  the 
piney  woods,  alone,  once  more !  I  wish  you  could  be 
there  1  " 

"  I  wish  I  could.  You  know,  I  love  the  old  place 
almost  as  much  as  you  do.  You  have  made  it  live  for 
me.  I  know  it  all !  Uncle  Norah,  and  Moses  the  Mule, 
and  Aunt  Big  Mary,  and  the  setters  — " 

"  And  the  red  rooster,  and  Sir  Francis  Drake,  and  my 
mockin'-bird  —  "  Tears  welled  up  in  her  eyes  and  fell 
upon  the  flower  tears  in  her  hand.  She  wiped  her 
cheeks  quite  frankly,  smiling  at  Norton  the  while. 

"  Do  you  know,  Quin,"  she  began  after  a  pause,  "  that 
you  are  really  the  nicest  boy  I  ever  met?  You  don't 
dream  how  much  I  like  you !  Will  you  promise  me 
something  ?  " 

"  Anything." 

"I  want  you  to  promise  not  to  call  me  Mrs.  Craig- 
head,  —  not  even  to  think  of  me  as  Mrs.  Craighead  ever 
any  more.  After  I  am  gone,  if  you  ever  think  of  me  at 
all,  let  it  be  this  way,  — '  Truth  said  that,'  or  '  Truth 
loved  the  flowers  I  brought  her,'  or  '  Truth  was  a  very 
loving  friend  to  me.'  " 

She  looked  up  in  gentle  good  faith,  but  as  she  met  his 
eyes,  blue-black  with  suppressed  feeling  and  luminous 
with  unshed  tears,  a  little  pang  of  apprehension  seized 
her.  The  boy  gave  a  miserable  gulp. 

"  I  shall  love  to  call  you  *  Truth.'  Indeed,  I  always 
think  of  you  so  in  my  heart.  But  why  do  you  speak  so 
strangely  —  as  if  you  might  never  come  back  ?  " 

"I  may  not.  That's  a  fact!  "she  said.  "Nobody 
knows  what  will  happen  to  them.  All  of  us,  at  times, 
feel  certain  that  we  are  goin'  to  die  young." 

"  I  don't,  for  one,"  said  Norton,  stoutly.    "  I  intend  to 


FAREWELLS  299 

hang  out  my  sign  until  it  actually  falls  into  bits,  like 
the  one-horse  shay.  Why  do  you  have  such  morbid 
thoughts  ?  It 's  not  a  bit  like  you !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  what 's  like  me  and  what  is  n't  ? 
One  year  ago  I  was  a  perfect  stranger." 

"  Oh,  one  year  ago  !  One  century  !  But  now  —  Oh, 
Truth !  if  there  is  any  way  in  which  I  can  help  you,  —  if 
there  is  anything  that  I  can  do  —  !  " 

Norton's  secret  was  in  his  face.  Conversation  in  other 
parts  of  the  room  had  stopped.  All  were  trying  not  to 
look  toward  that  particular  comer,  to  appear  as  if  they 
did  not  hear  Norton's  impassioned  words.  Mrs.  Adams 
rose  to  her  feet. 

"  What  unkind  friends  we  are !  "  she  cried  with  un- 
necessary vehemence.  "  These  good  people  are  to  set  off 
to-morrow  night  on  a  long,  tiresome  journey,  and  we  are 
staying  all  these  hours.  Good-night,  Mrs.  Dexter!  Good- 
bye, Truth,  dear !  We  all  will  be  at  the  station  to- 
morrow ;  that  is,  unless  you  would  rather  go  off  more 
quietly.  How  is  it?  Be  frank,  child !  You  know  that 
we  want  to  do  everything  to  show  our  grief  at  losing  you 
and  grandma  even  for  a  time,  but  we  don't  want  to  be 
in  the  way ! " 

Truth  hesitated.  She  longed  to  ask  them  not  to  come, 
but  was  too  delicate.  Van  came  to  her  assistance  — 

"  Since  you  are  so  thoughtful,  dear  Mrs.  Adams,  I  '11 
admit  that  it  would  be  better  for  you  not  to  come. 
Station  farewells  are  ghastly  exhibitions  at  best,  and 
both  Mrs.  Dexter  and  Truth  are  unnerved." 

"  Very  sensible  conclusion,"  remarked  the  Judge. 

When  these  good  friends  were  gone,  old  Craighead 
shuffled  toward  the  door,  with  Truth  following  close. 
In  the  little  antechamber  or  hallway  she  caught  his 
hand,  held  it  tightly  in  both  her  own,  and  said,  "  Father, 
you  have  been  lots  better  to  me  than  even  you  know. 
And  "  (here  she  gave  a  small,  hysterical  chuckle)  "  you 
did  n't  want  to  like  me  a  bit,  —  now,  honest  —  did 
you?" 

The  old  man's  face  wrinkled  into  dry  smiles,     "Ye 


300  TRUTH    DEXTER 

ain't  far  off  the  track  there,  I  guess  !  How  do  ye  know 
I  like  you  now  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  like  you  ?  "  she  retorted.  "  But 
you  do ! " 

"Waal,"  he  said  provokingly,  "some  good  had  ter 
come  out  er  Judee,  an'  I  guess  you  're  a  sport  on  a  rotten 
branch.  Your  grandma  ain't  lovin'  me  any  too  much !  " 

"That's  because  you  tease  her  so  about  the  South. 
But  I  don't  mind!  I  know  you  don't  mean  a  word  of 
it ! "  She  threw  her  arms  about  him  for  a  hug,  so  em- 
phatic that,  when  released,  the  old  man  staggered  back, 
and  began  rubbing  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"  I  guess  you  don't  need  any  Hoff's  Malt  Bitters  to 
bring  out  your  muscles,  Trewth !  Waal,  good-bye ! 
Arry-voy !  as  your  dude  Bostonian  says.  Yes,  I  '11  miss 
ye,  an'  be  lookin'  fer  ye  to  come  back.  I  never  thought 
to  say  so  much.  There !  there !  Don't  bother  'bout 
givin'  me  another  hug,  —  my  bottle  er  linimint  's  low !  " 

Norton  was  the  last  to  leave.  When  the  final  hand- 
shake came  his  face  was  so  lugubrious  that  Truth  cried, 
through  her  own  tears,  "  Why,  Quin !  You  look  like 
you  were  goin'  to  your  own  funeral.  Never  mind! 
Cheer  up!  We'll  see  you  at  Dexterville  yet." 

Van  did  not  even  glance  toward  his  junior  partner, 
but  as  that  youth  struggled  into  his  overcoat  began  to 
follow  suit. 

"  Going  out  at  this  time  of  night  ?  "  asked  Norton  in 
amazement. 

"  Yes,  these  stuffy  rooms  give  me  the  headache."  He 
did  not  say  good-bye  to  Truth. 

Next  day  dawned  gray,  cold,  and  windy.  The  train 
was  to  leave  at  five  P.  M.,  but  Van  started  early,  in  order 
to  allow  time  for  possible  difficulties. 

All  the  afternoon  Truth  had  been  excited  and  gay; 
"  fey  "  the  Scotch  would  have  called  it.  She  was  certain, 
now,  that  her  capacity  for  suffering  was  at  an  end ;  it 
was  strangely  easy  not  to  remember,  not  to  think  ahead. 
She  kept  Mrs.  Dexter  laughing  till  her  eyeglasses  fell 


FAREWELLS  301 

off  a  dozen  times,  and  even  Van  smiled  grimly  more 
than  once. 

The  porter,  washerwoman,  elevator  boy,  and  various 
hotel  clerks  all  were  bidden  farewell,  and  cheered  by  a 
generous  tip.  To  her  own  special  bell-boy,  the  negro  in 
buttons,  she  said,  "  Larry,  you  may  be  a  dark-skinned 
white  gen'1'man  up  here,  but  you  '11  have  lots  more  fun 
down  home.  You  'd  better  come !  " 

The  nervous  excitement  of  the  last  few  days  was  now 
stretched  to  the  point  of  reaction.  It  was  true  that  she 
could  neither  think  nor  reason.  Present  interests  hedged 
her  in  a  narrow  ring,  and  nothing  else  seemed  of  great 
importance  except  that  she  should  not  forget  a  single 
hotel  servant. 

At  the  station,  her  small  reserve  of  self-control  came 
near  deserting  her.  The  noise  of  passengers,  the  smell 
of  gas  and  humanity,  and,  above  all,  the  hearse-like 
aspect  of  the  sleeping-car,  oppressed  her  with  a  sense  of 
unreality  and  horror. 

Van  led  them  into  the  drawing-room  section,  and  be- 
gan to  busy  himself  with  shawl-straps  and  parcels.  The 
thought  came  suddenly  that  this  extra  expense  was  all 
from  Van's  own  earnings,  and  that  she  was  demanding 
of  him  the  burden  of  two  helpless  women,  in  whom  his 
interest  was  doubtful.  Neither  Mis.  Dexter  nor  Van 
noticed  her.  She  crept  from  the  little  compartment,  and 
stood  flattened  against  the  wall  of  the  passageway.  The 
two  voices  within  came  to  her  as  from  a  great  heated 
distance.  That  same  strange  dizziness  was  upon  her, 
and  she  threw  back  her  head,  gasping  for  breath.  Van's 
hand  was  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Truth,  try  not  to  worry  too  much  !  You  look  des- 
perately ill  1  I  am  going  to  do  the  best  for  both  of  us,  — 
believe  that.  It  is  a  strange  thing  that  you  have  de- 
manded, and,  for  your  own  sake,  I  must  be  sure  that  you 
really  understand  your  own  motives.  Talk  it  over  with 
grandma  as  soon  as  you  are  strong  enough.  As  for  the 
other  matter,  I  was  a  brute  to  speak  as  I  did.  I  am 
ashamed."  Truth  threw  one  hand^  up  to  his  breast. 


302  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  Don't  say  any  more !  I  can't  bear  it.  But  —  I  don't 
care,  —  I  don't !  Let  it  go !  —  only  —  only  —  don't  give 
me  up ! " 

Van  held  her  to  him  very  gently.  Mrs.  Dexter  caught 
a  glimpse  of  them  thus,  and  gave  a  great  sight  of  relief. 
"  Poor  little  one !  "  he  whispered.  "  She  does  n't  quite 
know  what  she  does  want,  does  she  ?  " 

"  Yes  !     I  want  —  you  !  "  sobbed  Truth. 

"All  aboard!" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IN  THE  WOODS 

DEW  still  glistened  in  the  shadows  as  Truth  went,  search- 
ing for  the  memories  of  her  childhood,  into  the  wide, 
silent  treasure-house  of  the  forest.  At  first,  as  if  resent- 
ful of  minor  impressions,  she  was  deliberately  unobserv- 
ant. Her  old  green  sunbonnet  with  its  dear,  indelible 
stains  of  blackberry,  persimmon,  and  walnut,  she  drew 
downward  until  her  lowered  eyes  could  see  only  a  semi- 
circle of  ground,  —  now  flecked  with  dry  grass,  now  bare, 
—  and  this  kept  moving  with  her,  like  the  cardboard 
turf  about  the  feet  of  a  paper-doll.  The  vague,  familiar 
odor  of  earth,  mingled  with  that  of  the  old  bonnet  and 
black  shawl  (the  same  she  had  worn  on  the  beach  at 
Biloxi),  produced  a  partial  anaesthesia,  in  which  recent 
events  dissolved  and  those  of  childhood  began  to  take  on 
luminous  outlines. 

It  was  one  of  those  Southern  March  mornings  when 
the  wind,  shamed  into  gentleness,  wanders  irresolute  from 
hill  to  hill,  or  drowses  with  violets  in  the  valleys.  The 
main  road,  pink  from  its  amalgamation  of  sand  and  clay, 
stretched  out  like  a  fallen  scarf  of  dawn,  and  upon  it  the 
trees  dropped  leaf-shadows  in  olive  mosaics.  All  was 
motionless  save  where  a  dewy  spray  flouted  the  uncere- 
monious leave-taking  of  a  bird.  Far  off  a  woodpecker 
tapped  his  hollow  drum. 

Bending  her  course  now  from  the  main  road  into  the 
wood,  she  took  a  little  pathless  path  down  the  slope,  here 
embossed  with  countless  tiny,  scalloped  terraces  banked 
up  with  pine-straw  and  the  roots  of  grass,  and  brimmed 
with  pink-white  sand.  Between  could  be  traced,  in 
shadowy  ripples,  the  water-courses  of  many  a  summer 
shower.  As  a  child  how  often  had  she  planted  her  iris 
banners,  and  worked  out  flower-tales  of  mediaeval  chivalry 


304  TRUTH    DEXTER 

upon  these  pigmy  battlements !  She  was  at  the  very 
scene  of  Ivanhoe's  triumph,  —  her  Ivanhoe  of  a  twig,  in 
leaf  armor  and  acorn  helmet.  The  little  drama  seemed 
to  spring  into  life  before  her  eyes.  A  spasmodic  con- 
traction caught  at  her  throat.  She  flung  back  her  head 
and  clutched  the  nearest  tree  for  support.  It  was  a 
slender  dogwood  in  full,  white  pomp  of  blossom. 

"  When  dogwood's  white, 
Fishers'  delight ! " 

That  was  what  she  and  grandpa  used  to  sing !  The 
snowy  discs  fluttered  down  upon  her  in  an  indignant 
shower.  She  swayed  a  moment  with  the  tree,  and  kept 
closed  eyes  until  the  cool,  thin  myrrh  of  the  pines  should 
have  brought  strength. 

She  strolled  on  now  more  slowly.  The  forgotten  sun- 
bonnet  hung  in  an  octagonal  green  bucket  at  the  back 
of  her  neck.  On  every  side  great  pines  stood  rigidly 
upright  in  the  slanting  soil,  their  brown,  scarred  trunks 
softening  to  purple  in  the  broad  belts  of  distance.  From 
the  roof  overhead  a  pine-burr  suddenly  fell,  as,  in  old 
Eastern  temples,  a  bronze  bolt,  or  knob,  is  loosed,  at 
last,  from  mouldering  timbers. 

Truth  stooped  for  the  gift,  but  paused  before  she 
reached  it,  arrested  by  a  new  odor,  a  new,  delicious,  tan- 
talizing fragrance  that  seemed  a  challenge,  a  call,  the 
laughter  of  a  hidden  sprite.  In  an  instant  she  had 
flung  herself  on  her  knees  and  was  tearing  straw  and 
dry  leaves  from  a  heap  at  the  edge  of  the  nearest  em- 
bankment. Her  cheeks  were  crimson,  her  lips  already 
parted  for  the  cry  of  triumph.  Yes,  she  had  found  it 
already,  —  a  great  cluster  of  the  wild  arbutus,  waxen, 
with  coral  buds! 

She  knelt  over,  sniffing  at  them,  taking  in  long,  quiver- 
ing breaths;  then,  prone  on  the  earth,  with  one  elbow 
deep  in  sand,  began  deliberately  to  pluck  away  each  bit 
of  straw  and  dead  leaf.  She  marvelled  for  the  hundredth 
time  at  the  delicate  adjustment  of  blossoms  among  such 
extraneous  substances.  Not  a  petal  was  scratched.  The 


305 

close,  green  foliage,  richly  fluted,  and  lined  with  thin, 
brown  fur,  was  almost  as  wonderful  as  the  flowers.  Af- 
ter all,  it  was  no  less  than  a  miracle  that  here,  from  a 
handful  of  sand  caught  up  in  a  crescent  of  dead  leaves, 
should  spring  a  wreath  of  wax,  enamel,  and  gems.  Who 
taught  the  buds  to  draw  red  ichor  from  the  same  source 
that  gave  their  shielding  coats  impervious  harshness  ? 

When  the  whole  group  lay  clear,  even  to  a  circling 
border  of  bare  earth,  Truth  rose  and  stood  above  it  in 
silent  adoration.  Then  she  walked  away,  pulled  down 
her  bonnet  over  her  eyes  once  more,  and,  turning,  came 
back,  pretending  surprise  at  the  discovery.  At  last  she 
knelt  again,  selected  one  tiny,  crimson  bud-spray  as 
trophy,  and  carefully,  twig  by  twig,  leaf  by  leaf,  replaced 
about  the  others  their  rude  covering.  Her  troubles  had 
vanished;  she  was  Truth,  the  child,  once  more. 

Now  she  looked  about  her  frankly.  At  the  foot  of 
the  hill  lay  a  dark,  thick  line  of  other  trees  than  pines,  a 
blue-green  wall  of  huge  magnolias,  cypresses,  tulip  trees, 
and  bay,  these,  with  a  thick  undergrowth  of  glossy- 
leaved  shrubs,  marking  the  course  of  "  the  branch." 
Rich,  moist  odors  rose  among  the  pine-stems  to  greet 
her,  that  indescribable  earth-smell  which  is  the  incense 
of  all  true  nature  worshippers,  and  the  more  tangible 
hints  of  dripping  resin,  and  the  thick,  oozing  juices  of 
gums.  As  her  foot  touched  the  first  spongy  outskirt, 
she  said  aloud,  "  O  God,  don't  let  the  snakes  bite  me !  " 
This  prayer  she  had  always  uttered,  when  as  a  child  she 
had  ventured  into  supposed  lairs  of  the  moccasin  or  rat- 
tlesnake. She  felt  nothing  incongruous  in  it  now,  only 
the  usual  childish  confidence  that  she  was  protected. 
The  "  branch "  flowers  are  late,  and  none  were  here  to 
welcome  her  except  the  wine-colored  stars  of  the  red 
bay.  These  she  gloated  over  with  eye,  touch,  and 
nostril.  The  cinnamon-brown,  clear  water  at  her  feet, 
gathered  from  hillside  springs  to  creep  in  sunless  con- 
volutions toward  the  distant  river,  reflected  familiarly 
the  silhouette  of  her" light-poised  figure.  Naked  cypress 
knees  thrust  themselves  upward  from  round,  soaked 

20 


306  TRUTH    DEXTER 

beds  of  moss  and  Mitchella  vines,  and  intertwisted  tree- 
roots  made  a  chain  of  little  islands  across  the  sullen 
flood.  Truth,  laughing  in  sheer  delight,  commenced 
the  precarious  passage.  Half-way  across  she  encoun- 
tered an  old  friend,  a  magnolia,  growing  almost  horizon- 
tally, with  one  supporting  elbow  in  the  stream.  She 
leaned  both  arms  on  it  to  rest,  and  fell  to  caressing  a 
well-remembered  group  of  tree  ferns. 

Beyond  the  branch  another  hill  sloped  slowly  and 
dimly  upward  among  endless  tiers  of  pine-pillars.  Here 
fell,  wafted  on  counter-currents  of  air,  a  new  odor,  an  in- 
fluence faint  as  yet,  but  irresistibly  sweet,  piercing,  and 
subtle.  She  gave  a  little  cry ;  her  heart  leaped,  and  her 
swift  feet  followed. 

The  yellow  jasmine  I  She  found  it  in  a  little  clearing 
of  oaklings  at  the  very  top  of  the  hill.  The  trees  were 
leafless  yet,  but  at  the  tip  of  every  spray  grew  a  swollen 
red  leaf-bud  apparently  on  the  point  of  bursting.  Upon 
the  ground  between  the  trees  tangled  masses  of  vines 
writhed  and  struggled,  wiry,  purple  stems  winged  at  in- 
tervals with  flame-points  of  emerald  and  silver.  No 
blossom  crests  tossed  on  these  riotous  waves,  but  up  the 
trunk  of  every  tree  ran  green  and  purple  spirals,  which 
darted,  aspiring,  to  the  very  tip,  and  there,  audacious, 
glorious,  triumphant,  shouted  the  praises  of  spring  from 
a  thousand  golden  bugles.  The  echo  of  the  call  was 
perfume.  Truth  felt  her  senses  reel  with  it. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  reach  you  I  Come  down,  come  down ! 
I  must  have  you." 

The  flowers  bridled  and  tossed ;  the  yellow  sprays 
tinkled  in  the  sun  like  a  golden  fountain. 

"  Come  down ! "  she  cried  again.  A  saucy  flower  un- 
hooked itself  and  struck  her  between  the  eyes.  She 
laughed  as  she  caught  it.  "  Is  this  all  I  'm  to  have  ? 
Then  all  right  1 "  She  turned  away  singing. 

"  How  clumsy  and  stupid  hot-house  flowers  are  ! "  she 
thought.  "  They  are  just  like  stuffed  squirrels.  I  won- 
der why  things  get  so  heavy  and  helpless  when  they  are 
cultivated.  Just  imagine  having  to  smoke  off  bugs  from 


IN    THE    WOODS  307 

a  wild  jasmine  vine  ! "  She  regarded  the  flower  in  her 
hand  with  close  scrutiny. 

"  I  reckon  these  seem  more  real  because  they  grow  as 
nature  meant  to  have  them.  Somehow  it  seems  almost 
wicked  to  over-cultivate  flowers,  —  or  people  either." 
The  thought  of  cities  choked  up  in  her  throat.  She 
tossed  it  off  with  a  shake  of  her  head.  "  How  I  hate 
hot-houses,  glass,  and  gardeners ! " 

The  smile  faded  from  her  eyes.  She  walked  abstract- 
edly, with  drooping  head,  until  a  big  blue  violet,  staring 
eagerly,  caught  her  attention.  She  was  down  beside  it 
in  a  moment,  one  finger  under  the  velvet  chin,  that  she 
might  gaze  more  deeply  into  the  single,  mysterious, 
yellow  eye.  "  Dear  little  violet,"  she  said  in  a  solemn 
voice,  "  if  ever  you  see  a  gardener  coming,  you  take  my 
advice  and  just  —  die  1  It  will  save  lots  of  trouble." 
The  violet  nodded  sagely,  and  continued  nodding,  as  if 
talking  to  itself,  long  after  Truth  had  passed.  The  two 
understood  each  other  perfectly. 

But  sad  thoughts  had  no  power  to  cling  a  day  like 
this.  Oh,  the  joy  of  being  in  her  woods  again !  Was 
ever  a  sky  so  blue  ?  No  chiselled  dome  could  be  more 
tangible.  The  fringed  openings  of  pine-branches  cut  it 
into  irregular  shapes ;  each  area  might  have  been  a  slab 
of  turquoise  set  in  green  bronze.  The  beams  of  the  sun 
came  in  sheaves  and  bands  through  purple  pine-trunks, 
that  were  half  dissolved  in  golden  mist  before  they  could 
touch  the  earth.  Sharp  contrasts  were  eliminated.  The 
luminous  solvent  crept  with  the  warmth  and  lull  of  an 
elixir  into  the  heart. 

Truth  wandered  inconsequently  from  point  to  point, 
her  course  making  odd  little  parallelograms  and  zigzags 
through  the  dry,  scant  grass.  Now  a  wild  iris  beckoned 
her,  a  pointed,  azure  flame  springing  from  the  ashes  of 
last  year's  growth ;  now  a  group  of  ferns,  half-hidden  in 
some  tiny  cave  or  dell,  about  to  unroll  curled  fronds  of 
chrysoprase,  hung  with  loose  white  filaments,  as  of  for- 
gotten moon-rays.  The  great  bronze  welts  upon  the 
buckeye  she  knew  for  volcanoes  of  struggling  leaves; 


308  TRUTH    DEXTER 

the  dried  umbels  and  racemes  of  a  vanished  summer 
were  pledges  of  beauty  and  rebirth.  The  dogwood  trees 
gleamed  out  ever  and  again,  and  always  with  startling 
effect.  Violets,  iris,  jasmine,  and  arbutus  abounded.  Not 
an  inch  of  earth  but  might  produce  a  friend.  These, 
these  alone  were  her  kin,  her  companions  ;  this  was 
true  living,  this  the  only  life,  —  to  blend  one's  self  with 
the  being  of  the  kind  old  earth,  to  lean  one's  tired  head 
upon  her  knee,  and  let  the  mesmeric  fingers  of  the  wind 
exorcise  the  circle  of  the  world's  troubled  phantoms. 

She  threw  herself  prone  upon  the  old  shawl,  but  kept 
her  hands  and  cheek  upon  the  sand.  Her  eyes  closed  in 
a  drowsy  beatitude  of  utter  irresponsibility.  The  great, 
steady  magnet  of  the  earth  radiated  peace.  She  smiled 
dreamily  as  the  sun  threw  over  her  a  thin  coverlet  of 
warmth. 

For  an  hour  she  lay  there,  neither  asleep  nor  awake, 
but  in  the  blessing  of  unreflecting  trance,  of  impression 
more  keen  and  inclusive  for  its  directness,  the  conscious- 
ness of  Nature's  primeval  races,  and,  so  lying,  so  dream- 
ing, her  human  body  drifted,  as  it  were,  into  a  world  of 
other  dimensions,  the  plane  of  things  that  leaf  and  bud ; 
her  blood  ran  as  cool  as  the  sweet  sap  along  swaying 
boughs,  and,  through  a  stillness  as  absolute  as  if  her  heart 
had  stopped  —  out  of  the  very  hush  of  finite  movement, 
—  a  new  and  larger  rhythm  filled  gradually  the  vacuum 
of  her  perceptions  and  she  knew  herself  to  be  a  mere  sen- 
tient atom,  part  of  the  diurnal  motion  of  a  great,  dumb 
planet,  helplessly  secure,  transmutably  persistent. 

In  her  slow  return  to  a  perception  of  personal  identity, 
Truth  Dexter,  the  individual,  dawned  as  a  clear  vision 
from  the  troubled  haze  of  recent  experiences.  What  had 
she  to  do  with  Craighead,  culture,  and  Boston?  It  was 
a  pagan  soul  that  lay  there,  sleepy  and  strong.  A  slight 
movement  overhead  drew  her  attention  to  a  squirrel  that 
peered  down  at  her  from  a  pine-branch,  with  round  bright 
eyes  and  head  tilted  daintily.  At  that  moment  he  was 
much  nearer  of  kin  than  the  grandmother  who  waited  so 
anxiously  at  home. 


IN    THE    WOODS  309 

Truth  closed  her  eyes  again,  and  a  drowsy  stir  of  spec- 
ulation made  her  wonder  whether,  in  some  early  incarna- 
tion, in  a  world  as  yet  unpeopled,  her  spirit  might  not 
have  been  that  of  a  pine  tree  or  a  hillside  stream,  which 
to-day's  loosening  of  successive  sheaves  had  freed  for  a 
last  vision  of  Nature's  harmony. 

The  sun,  now  directly  overhead,  caressed  her  with  too 
fervent  kindness.  Idly  she  planted  a  little  weed-stalk 
upward  and  noted  that  it  cast  no  shadow. 

"  Why,  it  must  be  twelve  1 "  she  said  aloud. 

She  gave  a  long  sigh  that  was  half  a  smile,  and  rose 
slowly  to  her  feet,  looking  all  the  while  around  upon  the 
forest. 

"Yes,  I  must  go,"  she  repeated  as  if  to  the  trees. 
"  But,  oh,  how  glad  I  am  that  I  came  !  It  is  not  lost. 
I  have  found  it  now,  forever,  and  it  was,  myself.  Some- 
times it  seemed  to  be  lost,  but  it  was  only  watching  for 
me  here  ! " 

She  stooped  for  the  shawl  and  bonnet.  Suddenly  the 
old  look  of  anguish  darkened  her  face.  Letting  them 
fall  she  flung  her  arms  impetuously  about  the  nearest 
pine.  "  Old  pine !  "  she  cried, "  did  you  ever  have  light- 
ning crash  down  through  your  branches,  so  that  you 
thought  for  a  while  you  were  dead,  and  could  never 
grow  any  more?  Well,  that  is  just  how  I  have  been 
feeling  1  But  after  a  while  the  first  dreadful  hurt  passes, 
and  you  know  that  you  are  not  dead,  —  that  you  are  even 
going  to  keep  on  growing.  Yes,  even  if  half  of  you  is 
torn  away  you  must  keep  on  growing  with  what  is  left. 
The  birds  and  squirrels  won't  laugh  at  your  scars ;  and 
after  a  while,  vines  will  creep  up  to  hide  the  ugly  spaces. 
Is  n't  it  so,  dear  tree-friend  ?  " 

The  tree  answered  nothing,  but  that  is  often  the  way 
with  a  thoughtful  listener. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE   GOOD   AND   FAITHFUL   SERVANT 

MRS.  DEXTER  stood  on  the  veranda  steps  waiting  for 
Truth's  return.  At  sight  of  her  the  pent-up  anxiety 
broke  into  words:  — 

"  My  dear  child  1  Where  have  you  been  so  long  ?  I 
began  to  fear  that  you  were  lost." 

"  Me  lost  1 "  cried  Truth  with  a  laugh.  "  Does  a  bird 
get  lost  in  the  air,  or  a  fish  in  water  ?  Why,  mummie, 
I  've  just  been  findin'  myself.  But  it  was  selfish  to  leave 
you  for  so  long.  What  have  you  been  doing  your  first 
morning?" 

Mrs.  Dexter  did  not  answer  at  once.  Her  face  changed 
into  a  beautiful  sadness,  and  the  smile  on  her  lips  deep- 
ened. Even  before  she  spoke,  Truth  knew. 

"  I  went  —  to  him  !  " 

"  Oh,  mummie  !  Without  me  !  I  thought  we  'd  go 
together  this  afternoon,  when  the  woods  were  warmer." 

"  Yes,  darling.     For  the  first  time  without  even  you." 

"  Is  the  place  in  order  ?  " 

"  Such  beautiful  order  1  Such  neatness  !  Norah  has 
done  more  than  well.  But  you  shall  see  for  yourself, 
later.  The  whole  quarter  is  swarming  now  with  friends 
come  to  welcome  us  home.  You  must  speak  a  few  words 
to  them,  and  tell  them  that  the  presents  will  be  here  in 
a  day  or  two.  And  right  after  lunch  I  have  promised 
Uncle  Norah  that  we  would  go  all  over  the  place  with 
him.  He  has  been  hanging  around  since  daybreak." 

The  old  lady  was  more  animated  than  she  had  been  for 
months.  Her  eyes  shone,  and  in  her  cheeks  pale  tea- 
roses  bloomed. 

"  Mummie !  I  '11  declare,  you  are  a  different  woman 
already !  Oh,  is  n't  it  good  to  be  back  home !  " 


GOOD    AND    FAITHFUL    SERVANT     311 

Mrs.  Dexter  gave  a  long  tremulous  sigh  of  satisfaction 
with,  Truth  vaguely  imagined,  something  of  bitterness 
it  it,  too. 

"  But  where  are  the  darkies,  you  say  ? "  cried  the 
younger  woman.  "  I  '11  go  to  them  at  once  ;  but  if  they 
expect  to  see  '  Miss  Troof '  turned  into  a  Boston  swell, 
they  '11  get  a  severe  shock." 

The  dusky  community  was  assembled,  —  all  but  Uncle 
Norah.  Literally,  as  Mrs.  Dexter  had  said,  he  had  been, 
since  morning,  dressed  in  the  full  glory  of  one  of  the 
Colonel's  ante-bellum  evening  outfits,  waiting  to  take  the 
two  beloved  mistresses  over  the  scene  of  his  care  and 
loving  labors.  During  the  months  of  their  absence  he 
had  found  happiness  in  the  task  of  restoring  the  old 
gardens  to  something  of  their  former  beauty.  On  every 
side  new  fences,  smooth-trimmed  hedges,  and  clean-cut 
gravelled  walks  gave  evidence  of  good  stewardship. 

In  appearance  Uncle  Norah  strangely  suggested  a  big 
brown  cricket.  The  color,  a  rich  mahogany  brown,  was 
identical ;  his  arms  and  legs,  stiffened  by  many  winters 
of  "mis'ry  in  de  jints,"  stuck  out  at  entomological  angles. 
Even  that  time-worn  falsetto,  his  voice,  had  the  cheer- 
ful croak  that  brings  to  mind  fireside  dozing,  and  flicker- 
ing logs.  This  analogy  went  further  than  externals, 
for  Uncle  Norah  had  kept  tame  crickets  as  long  as  the 
"  Quarter  "  could  remember,  housing  them  under  a  par- 
ticularly rusty  brick  at  the  corner  of  his  hearth,  and 
feeding  them  daily  with  dampened  corn-bread.  He 
could  never  be  persuaded  to  impale  one  of  these  insects 
on  a  fish-hook,  although  every  one  knows  that,  to  fishes, 
they  are  more  tempting  than  wood-sawyers,  grasshoppers, 
or  the  most  contortionate  of  worms. 

Once,  when  rallied  on  his  weakness,  he  had  retorted : 
"  Well !  s'posin'  I  do  lak  crickets,  —  what  den  1  My  eyes 
iz  my  eyes,  an'  my  years  my  years,  —  nobody  else  ain't 
axed  to  lissen!  Craickets  stays  where  dey  b'long,  an' 
sings,  rain  or  shine.  Dey  don't  gallervant  all  over  creation 
lak  hoppergrasses,  an'  straddle-bugs,  an'  yaller  niggers.  I 
reckin  when  de  Good  Lord  comes  ter  figger  up  de  season- 


312  TRUTH    DEXTER 

ableness  er  crickets  an'  yaller  niggers,  de  crickets  gwine 
ter  come  out  a  good  many  jumps  ahead."  His  assailant 
was  a  young  and  very  "  lively  "  yellow  girl,  and  the  last 
remark  struck  home. 

Immediately  after  the  Colonel's  death,  Truth's  mar- 
riage, and  the  removal  of  "  Miss  Dolly  "  to  the  seashore, 
the  old  negro  had  settled  into  a  state  of  dejection  that 
bordered  on  melancholia.  He  would  go  about  his  duties 
in  a  dazed,  mechanical  way,  and  when  at  leisure  would 
sit  for  hours  by  his  hearth,  scarcely  knowing  whether 
the  fire  burned  or  died.  As  Aunt  Big  Mary  expressed 
it:  — 

"  Dare  's  poh  ole  Unk'  Norah  settin'  humped  up  by  de 
hyearth,  warmin'  hisself  by  a  cold  soot-hole,  an'  don't 
know  de  diffunce !  I  don't  beleeve  he  even  feeds  dem 
crickits  no  mo',  and  dey  all  is  dyin'  togedder,  —  Unk' 
Norah  fer  grief,  an'  de  crickits  fer  vittals.  Ef  I  did  n't 
drap  a  corn-pone  roun'  dare  neighborhood  onst  in  a  while, 
I  don't  know  what  would  happen,  no  how ! " 

But  when  Miss  Dolly  returned,  the  old  man  rallied. 
Here  was  a  definite  responsibility,  to  look  after  the  be- 
loved mistress,  to  take,  so  far  as  lay  in  his  humble  power, 
the  dead  Colonel's  cares  upon  himself.  Then  the  large 
sums  that  Van  began  to  send  him  for  expenditure  upon 
the  homestead,  often  without  Mrs.  Dexter's  knowledge, 
aroused  a  great  ambition  in  his  honest  heart. 

He  now  sat  in  a  latticed  summer-house  in  the  front 
garden,  listening  somewhat  contemptuously  to  the  clamor 
of  the  younger  negroes  who  surged  about  Miss  Troof  in 
the  quarter,  and  peeping  now  and  again  through  the 
crevices  of  lattice-work  and  rose-vines,  to  see  whether  his 
hour  of  triumph  was  not  about  to  dawn. 

At  last  it  came,  —  Truth  and  Mrs.  Dexter  arm  in  arm, 
each  adorned  with  an  old  garden  hat,  and  both  peering 
about  for  the  promised  cicerone. 

In  an  instant  Norah  was  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 
"  Walk  down,  ladies  !  Ole  Norah 's  bin  on  de  lookout 
fer  you.  You  need  n't  be  surgiverous  'bout  dat  bottom 
step,  now,  Miss  Troof.  A  team  o'  mules  could  come 


GOOD    AND    FAITHFUL    SERVANT     313 

down  hit  now,  let  er  lone  you  an'  Miss  Dolly !  Dis  way, 
pleeze  1  We  '11  go  roun'  de  gyardin  fust,  an'  den  out 
throo  de  back  yard." 

"  We  are  in  your  hands,  Norah,"  smiled  Mrs.  Dexter. 
"  Miss  Truth  and  I  have  n't  dared  look  at  a  thing,  — 
have  we,  Truth?" 

"  I  should  say  not  I  Why,  I  even  shut  my  eyes  this 
morning  as  I  went  down  the  lane,  and  might  have  broken 
my  neck  in  that  old  trash-hole  by  the  gate." 

"  Now  jes*  listen  at  dat  1 "  exclaimed  the  old  man  in 
great  delight,  —  "  when  dat  hole 's  bin  chugged  up  to 
de  brim  fer  lo,  dese  many  days,  —  an'  a  Blue  Gum 
growin'  lak  it  done  sprouted  dare  ! " 

As  they  walked  on  through  the  neat  pathways  Uncle 
Norah  said,  with  obvious  hypocrisy,  "  I  ain't  sayin'  as 
how  I  'se  done  much.  Miss  Dolly ;  an'  self-praise  is 
half-scan'lous  to  de  world.  But  I  'se  wrastled  'round 
considderbul." 

"  The  improvement  is  nothing  short  of  magical,"  pro- 
tested Mrs.  Dexter,  with  a  merry  glance  at  her  com- 
panion. "  I  have  been  quite  restless  to  come  out  all 
the  morning,  but  was  n't  willing  to  do  so  without  Miss 
Truth." 

"  Dat 's  right,  —  dat 's  right !  Miss  Troof  she  know 
ebbery  plant  an'  vine  an'  flowerin'  onion  (he  meant  bulb) 
on  dis  place  better  'n  ole  Norah  hisself.  She  useter 
follow  me  'roun'  when  she  was  n't  mo'  dan  dis  high  " 
(he  measured  off  a  trembling  two  feet  from  the  ground). 
"She  used  ter  say  dat  de  flower-beds  was  places  fer  de 
flowers  to  sleep  in  durin'  de  winter,  an'  wake  up  bright 
an'  yearly  in  the  spring." 

"  I  believe  I  do  know  them  all,"  laughed  Truth. 
"  Look  over  there,  at  the  bunch  of  hyacinths,  —  by  the 
bee-house,  just  where  they  belong !  "  She  broke  from 
her  companions  to  kneel  beside  the  flowers.  "  Precious 
little  darlings !  Only  a  few  are  open  yet,  but  the  rest  are 
crowding  up  like  baby-teeth." 

"  Jes'  lissen  at  dat!  Whot  I  tell  you?"  said  Norah, 
turning  in  great  solemnity  and  implied  protest  to  his 


314  TRUTH    DEXTER 

mistress.  "Miss  Troof  hasn't  growed  up  a  bit.  She 
allers  has  talked  to  dem  yerbs  an'  flowers  lak  she  thinks 
dem  folks  God  made." 

"  And  so  I  do,"  said  Truth,  stoutly. 

Uncle  Norah  paused  for  an  exaggerated  stare.  "  You 
thinks  so  yit!"  he  murmured.  "An'  you  er  rich  lady, 
married  to  a  Yankee  genTman !  " 

Truth  laughed,  but  a  tiny  cloud  flecked  her  face. 
They  walked  on  in  silence  until  the  arched  gateway  of 
the  "  back  yard  "  was  reached.  This  enclosure  was  at 
once  a  transition  and  a  separation  between  the  front 
garden  proper  and  a  large  vegetable  field  behind.  In 
it  fruits,  berries,  and  flowers  had  once  striven  madly  for 
supremacy.  Strawberry  plants  had  crept,  like  gaunt  red 
spiders,  over  the  ill-defined  walks,  unpruned  fruit  trees, 
quinces,  pears,  pomegranate,  orange,  and  fig,  had  carried 
the  battle  high  in  air,  and  from  the  blackberry  hedges, 
long,  sword-like  "  suckers  "  had  menaced  the  eyesight 
of  the  passer-by.  At  the  gate  of  this  garden  the  two 
ladies  uttered  a  simultaneous  cry  of  surprise.  Instead 
of  the  ancient  panel  of  rotting  wood,  they  beheld  a 
surface  of  shining  green  paint ;  in  place  of  the  well  re- 
membered peg  and  string  that  had  once  served  for  fast- 
ening, Uncle  Norah  now  rattled  meaningly  a  latch  of 
the  newest  invention.  The  old  negro  was  one  wrinkled 
mass  of  smiles. 

"Walk  in,  ladies!  Don'  be  afraid!  Dey's  some- 
thin'  to  come  yit." 

"  Why,  where  are  we  at ! "  cried  Truth,  and  Mrs.  Dex- 
ter could  only  hold  up  her  hands  in  corroborative  amaze- 
ment. "  I  've  never  been  in  this  Paradise  before.  The 
old  fruit  trees  look  like  they  had  just  come  from  the 
barber.  Uncle  Norah,  you  're  a  magician !  " 

"  And  the  strawberry  beds  ! "  added  Mrs.  Dexter.  "  I 
never  saw  such  beautiful  rows.  There  ought  to  be  some 
berries  very  soon,  now*" 

"  Dey  is  !  Dey  will  be  !  "  squeaked  Uncle  Norah, 
almost  speechless  with  pride.  "No  later  'n  yistiddy 
I  seen  a  mocking-bird  struttin'  up  an'  down  dem  rows 


GOOD    AND    FAITHFUL    SERVANT     315 

wid  his  hands  in  his  pock  its,  lak  he  had  done  hoe'd  an' 
planted  de  whole  shebang.     Dat  's  a  sho'  sign  !  " 

"  Well,  judging  from  the  number  of  flowers  there  will 
be  enough  for  us  and  Brother  Mockin'  Bird  too,"  re- 
marked Truth.  Even  as  she  spoke  she  paused,  and  her 
eyes  began  to  dilate.  "  I  do  believe  that  all  the  hot- 
houses are  mended,"  she  said  breathlessly,  and  began 
running.  "  Do  I  —  can  I  believe  my  eyes  ?  Here  are 
all  my  old  geraniums  and  plants  inside.  Murnmie,  come 
quick  1  I  thought  they  were  all  dead  long  ago." 

"  No,  mam  !  "  cried  the  old  man,  as  he  flew  over  the 
ground  to  keep  pace  with  Truth.  "  Not  a  one  on  'em  is 
dead  !  All  ob  dem  is  safe,  —  de  gerangimums,  an'  de 
lumbago  (plumbago),  an'  de  bee-gonias,  an'  de  night 
bloomin'  serious,  down  to  de  Christian-anthems  (chrys- 
anthemums), all  on  'em  is  ez  chipper  ez  fleas  on  er  fat 
poodle.  I  nussed  dem  myse'f,  cause  I  seen  Miss  Troof 
cryin'  when  she  tole  'em  good-bye." 

Truth  was  on  the  point  of  crying  now. 

"  But  how  did  you  manage  to  get  the  houses  repaired 
so  neatly,  way  off  here  in  the  woods  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Dex- 
ter, with  some  curiosity.  The  question  was  like  honey 
on  the  tongue  of  the  old  man.  "  Well,"  he  began  impor- 
tantly, "  I  ain't  a  sayin'  dat  it  wus  as  easy  as  rollin'  off 
a  log,  —  or  even  stayin'  on  one.  De  wood-work  did  n't 
amount  to  shucks,  but  de  glass  was  sho'  survigerous! 
We  hadter  git  it  fum  Mungummery,  by  mejjermint,  — 
an'  I  nebber  did  had  no  use  fer  dem  tapeworm  lines ! 
De  fust  lot,  —  hit  was  too  big.  De  secon'  lot,  —  hit  wuz 
too  little.  But  de  third,  hit  com  right  enuff,  an'  a  man, 
wid  putty  in  a  pail."  It  was  a  peculiarity  of  Uncle 
Norah,  that  he  always  supplemented  his  narratives  with 
pantomime.  During  stages  of  the  present  recital  the 
misfitting  glass  had  been  indicated  by  planes  of  air  be- 
tween two  horny  palms,  —  his  disgust  at  the  stupidity 
of  glass-dealers  in  general  by  a  protruding  underlip, 
and  Frenchy  shrugs  of  the  shoulders;  —  now  he  went 
through  the  motions  of  a  man  carrying  a  heavy  pail. 
Truth  had  to  cover  her  mouth  now  and  again,  for  noth- 


316  TRUTH    DEXTER 

ing  so  insults  a  negro  orator  as  for  his  audience  to  laugh 
in  the  wrong  place.  Mrs.  Dexter's  face  had  remained 
sweet  and  grave,  though  deeply  interested. 

"  Well,"  Uncle  Norah  continued,  "  Jes'  as  we  wus 
puttin'  in  de  las'  piece  ob  glass,  an'  de  chewin'-gum  not 
dry  around  de  aidges,  dat  fool  Sam  Turner  —  you  know 
Sam  Turner,  Miss  Troof."  Truth  put  her  head  on  one 
side,  and  looked  puzzled.  "  Dat  long-bodied,  yaller  nig- 
ger ob  Aunt  Big  Mary's  half-sister  Bricie  Coon's  "  — 
"  Oh,  Bricie's  Sam  !  Of  course  I  know  him !  " 
"Well,  dat  same  fool  nigger, — jes1  as  he  wus  liftin' 
on  de  las'  window-frame,  smilin'  careful,  an'  stoopin' 
over  slow  (every  gesture  was  faithfully  reproduced), 
what  should  come  up  behin'  dat  nigger  but  er  was'-nes' 
(wasp),  an'  set  down  on  his  thinnest  patch.  'Sted  ob 
composin'  himself,  lak  de  Bible  says,  Sam  he  up  an' 
screech  till  you  could  a  heered  him  de  length  ob  de 
Tombigbee,  dropped  the  whole  window,  and  went  down 
throo  hit,  head  fust,  inter  de  pit !  "  Here  the  narrator 
stopped  to  wipe  his  brow.  "  I  was  dat  mad  1 "  —  Words 
failed  him. 

Truth  broke  into  peals  of  laughter.     "  Poor  Sam  1  " 
"  Po'    Sam ! "    echoed    Uncle    Norah,    indignantly. 
"  S'posin'  yo  gerangimums  had  er  bin  in  dare.     Fool 
Sam,  I  sez  ! " 

"  But  he  might  have  cracked  his  skull." 
"  Crack  Sam  Turner's  skull,  Miss  Troof !  Now  you 
oughter  know  better  'n  dat.  Nothin'  dis  side  ob  a  mule's 
hind  leg  gwineter  crack  Sam  Turner's  skull.  An',"  he 
added  reflectively,  "  I  ain't  sayin'  dat  I  would  be  willin' 
to  put  up  my  Sunday  pants  even  on  dat.  Sence  Sam's 
bin  wukkin'  in  de  stable  I  'se  noticed  dat  both  mules  has 
in-growin'  toe-nails." 

Mrs.  Dexter  was  not  listening.  She  was  deliberately 
taking  in  the  neat  beauty  of  the  grounds,  and  the  air  of 
well-being  that  now  hung  over  everything.  A  heavy 
sigh  burst  from  her  lips  even  while  she  smiled  to  see  the 
trim  fruit  trees,  and  the  geometric  rows  of  vegetables, 
with  borders  of  rose-bushes  and  violets.  A  red-bird 


GOOD    AND    FAITHFUL    SERVANT     317 

darted  past  the  group,  and  perching  himself  on  the  very 
tip  of  a  bare  fig  tree,  began  to  sing.  Moses,  the  mule, 
lifted  his  shaggy  head  over  a  fence,  and  neighed  ap- 
provingly ;  the  laughter  of  piccaninnies  came  from  the 
direction  of  the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Dexter  turned  to  her  old 
servant,  with  eyes  that  were  bright  and  soft.  "You 
have  done  well,  Noah.  I  thank  you ! " 

"  I  lubs  de  ole  place,  Miss  Dolly." 

"  I  know  that,  old  friend.  Only  love  gives  care  like 
this.  But  there  is  another  place,  —  a  plot  of  ground,  not 
so  large,  but  dearer  "  —  Her  voice  broke,  and  she  looked 
beyond  the  group,  out  to  a  farther  hill  where,  in  a  little 
clearing  of  sentinel  pines,  the  sunshine  and  the  Colonel 
lay  asleep. 

Noah's  old  face  began  to  twitch  spasmodically;  he 
made  two  husky  efforts  to  speak  before  he  broke  out,  — 

"  No  nigger  touched  dot  place !  No  nigger  but  ole 
Norah!  De  purtiest  flowers,  de  whites'  pebbles,  de 
greenes'  grass,  —  dese  ole  hands  toted  dem  one  by  one." 

"  I  saw  it  all,  Norah.  I  know  what  every  pebble  has 
meant  to  your  stiff  old  limbs.  Such  work  as  this,  only 
love  can  give,  and  love  repay." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  Her  face  was  very  beautiful. 
The  old  negro  took  the  frail  fingers  in  his,  and  for  a 
moment  made  as  if  he  would  bend  his  lips  to  it,  as  he 
had  so  often  seen  Old  Marster  do.  But  no !  His  lips 
were  too  coarse  and  thick  for  that !  He  laid  the  hand 
back  gently,  against  Mrs.  Dexter's  sombre  skirt. 

"  Oh,  Misses !  Misses  I  "  he  sobbed.  "  I  ain't  nothin' 
but  a  no-'count  ole  black  nigger,  —  but  I  —  I  loved  him 
too!" 

He  shuffled  away,  giving  now  and  again  stentorian 
blasts  of  emotion  on  his  red  bandana  pocket-handker- 
chief. Mi-s.  Dexter's  lips  were  trembling,  but  Truth 
wept  openly,  with  sweet  unrestraint,  like  a  little  child. 

"  Dear  old  black  —  angel  I "  she  sobbed.  "  I  would  n't 
give  one  strand  of  his  woolly  head  for  every  Beacon 
street  millionaire  in  Boston  I" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

SECRETS  REVEALED 

IF  Mrs.  Dexter  knew  that  Truth  had  been  in  the  South 
for  a  week  without  writing  to  her  husband  or  receiving 
a  letter  from  him,  she  did  not  betray  the  knowledge. 
Boston  papers  had  come  regularly,  various  magazines 
addressed  in  Norton's  hand,  and  one  letter  from  Mrs. 
Adams,  but  none  from  Craighead. 

The  post-office  of  Dexterville  was  merely  one  corner 
of  the  general  "  store."  The  daily  mail  arrived  about 
five ;  and  it  was  noticeable  how  often  Truth  found  occa- 
sion to  pass,  or  to  visit  the  store  at  that  hour. 

The  first  enchantment  of  home-coming  was  over.  The 
old  garden  and  the  forest  remained  dear  indeed,  but, 
after  all,  there  can  be  but  one  "  first  "  to  anything.  Mrs. 
Dexter  had  returned  to  her  old  routine  as  a  flower  to  its 
sheath.  Truth  began  to  realize  how  little  Boston  and  its 
culture  could  mean  to  a  soul  whose  very  life  sprang  from 
another  soil  and  another  age. 

"  She  '11  never  be  happy  up  North  long  at  a  time," 
thought  Truth,  and  sighed  deeply.  In  another  moment 
she  was  taking  herself  to  task.  "  Why  am  I  sighing  ?  " 
she  demanded.  "  I  'm  never  going  back  myself,  in  all 
probability.  This  is  where  I  shall  be  all  the  rest  of  my 
life." 

She  looked  around  her  as  one  who  has  waked  in  a 
new,  strange  place.  The  old  home  was  the  same  as 
ever,  but  some  intangible  essence  was  gone  from  it,  — 
or  from  her.  The  stiff,  dark,  old-fashioned  furniture 
seemed  to  mock  her,  —  it  was  a  visible  expression  of 
that  worn-out  past  to  which  she  and  her  grandmother 
belonged.  She  walked  languidly  to  a  window  to  see 
whether  the  rain  might  have  stopped.  No,  it  was  still 


310 

coming  down  in  tiny  gray  parallel  strokes,  relentless  as 
the  deep-cut  lines  on  an  engraver's  plate.  She  gave 
another  great  sigh. 

Mrs.  Dexter  heard,  smiled  slyly  to  herself,  and  then 
asked  kindly,  "  What 's  the  matter,  dearie  ?  " 

"  Nothing !  "  was  the  comprehensive  answer. 

The  old  lady  smiled  again,  and  returned  placidly  to 
the  darning  of  an  embroidered  pillow-sham  that  had 
made  one  of  her  own  wedding  outfit. 

Both  ladies  had  been  sitting,  most  of  the  morning, 
in  Mrs.  Dexter's  large,  cheerful  bedroom.  A  low  fire 
of  pine  knots  made  a  presence  in  the  wide  chimney- 
place,  and  served,  as  Mrs.  Dexter  would  have  expressed 
it,  "  to  frighten  off  the  chill."  This  was  the  room  where 
Mrs.  Dexter  had  lain  so  desperately  ill,  where  Truth's 
marriage  had  taken  place.  The  window  through  which 
the  rooster  had  peered  stood  open  now,  as  then.  Truth 
had  tried  to  occupy  herself  in  a  dozen  different  ways,  — • 
sewing,  reading,  playing  on  the  old  jingling  piano,  help- 
ing Aunt  Big  Mary  in  the  kitchen,  beginning  letters  to 
Mrs.  Adams,  —  but  after  each  new  failure  to  fix  her  own 
interest  she  would  stroll  back  to  where  Mrs.  Dexter  sat. 
The  placid  content  evident  in  the  elder  lady  was,  for 
some  reason,  distinctly  irritating  to  the  younger ;  but 
anything  was  better  than  being  off  to  one's  self,  thinking. 
Mrs.  Dexter's  conversation  ran,  as  usual,  in  the  grooves 
of  long  ago. 

"  Just  look  at  this  drawn-work  !  "  she  now  remarked, 
holding  a  bit  against  the  gray  light  that  they  both  might 
gaze  and  admire.  "You  don't  see  this  kind  of  work 
nowadays.  Sewing-machines  and  factories  have  vul- 
garized everything." 

Truth  turned  her  sombre  eyes  from  the  window  a 
moment,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Mrs.  Dexter,  as  if  a  reply  had  been 
forthcoming,  "  I  would  as  soon  think  of  wearing  a  negro's 
head-handkerchief  as  a  piece  of  imitation  lace ;  yet  every- 
body seemed  to  use  it  in  Boston." 

"  There 's  the  train !  "  said  Truth,   irrelevantly,  but 


TRUTH    DEXTER 

with  more  animation  that  she  had  yet  shown.  "  I  won- 
der if  there  's  any  mail !  " 

"  They  would  n't  be  apt  to  send  it  up  from  the 
store  such  an  afternoon,"  said  Mrs.  Dexter,  tranquilly. 
"  Norah  can  step  down  before  breakfast  in  the  morning." 

"  But  I  want  the  papers !  I  think  I  '11  give  Nickey 
two-bits  to  go  after  them." 

"  You  will  spoil  that  child.  He  is  not  used  to  tips," 
smiled  Mrs.  Dexter,  then  dismissed  the  subject  from  her 
mind  and  began  to  fold  away,  with  elaborate  care,  the 
precious  bits  of  mending. 

The  little  negro  was  despatched,  and  came  back  with 
several  magazines  and  papers. 

"  No  letters  ?  "  asked  Truth. 

"  Nome.     Not  er  one  !  " 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  Sometimes  Mr.  Calvert  leaves  them 
in  the  bottom  of  the  bag." 

"  Sure  !  "  protested  Nickey.  "  I  seen  him  shake  de 
bag  top-side  down,  mysef." 

"  Well,  I  'm  sorry,  but  it  can't  be  helped,  I  reckon. 
Here  's  your  two-bits." 

"  I  don't  want  no  pay,  Miss  Troof !  "  said  Nickey,  gal- 
lantly. "  I  don't,  sho'  nun0.  Don't  gib  me  dat  two- 
bits  1 "  His  voice  was  sincere,  but  all  the  time  his  little 
black,  claw-like  hand  was  held  palm-upward  within  easy 
reach  of  the  coveted  coin. 

Truth  laughed  as  she  gave  him  the  prize.  "  That 's 
all  right,  Nickey !  You  earned  it." 

"  No  letters,  mummie  !  But  here  are  some  Boston 
papers.  Shall  I  read  you  the  news?" 

"Hadn't  we  better  wait  till  after  tea,  when  things 
are  quieted  down  ?  It 's  on  the  table  now." 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  we  'd  better,"  assented  Truth,  doubt- 
fully, "  though  it  seems  to  me  that  we  never  do  anything 
down  here  but  eat,  and  go  to  bed,  and  get  up  again." 

Half  an  hour  later  tea  was  at  an  end,  the  Big  House 
closed  for  the  night,  servants  in  their  own  quarters,  and 
Truth  was  beginning,  for  the  second  time,  to  read  the 
news. 


SECRETS    REVEALED 

She  took  up  the  "  Sunday  Herald  "  first.  "  Big  Freeze 
in  Boston.  Damage  to  the  Public  Garden."  She 
lowered  the  paper  to  address  her  grandmother.  "  Just 
listen  at  that!  "  she  cried  triumphantly  ;  "  and  we  about 
to  eat  strawberries  off  our  own  beds  !  " 

She  turned  the  pages  swiftly,  skimming  as  she  went. 
"  Fire  in  Dorchester."  "  Progress  on  the  Subway. 
Great  Charity  Bazaar  at  Faneuil  Hall.  Sudden  death 
of  prominent  Bostonian,  —  Thomas  Courtney  Wiley  !  " 
The  paper  and  Truth's  hands  fell  together. 

"  Why,  that  was  an  acquaintance  of  Van's,  was  n't 
he?"  asked  Mrs.  Dexter  amiably,  but  without  lifting 
her  eyes  from  her  knitting. 

Truth  tried  to  reply,  but  her  throat  was  paralyzed. 

Then  Mrs.  Dexter  looked  up,  gave  a  little  cry,  dropped 
yarn  and  needles,  and  hurried  to  Truth's  side. 

"  Truth !  Truth,  dear !  What  is  the  matter  ?  Are 
you  sick  ?  Did  you  see  any  bad  news  in  the  paper  ?  " 

The  open  sheet  had  slid  to  the  floor.  Truth's  horror- 
stricken  eyes  were  fastened  upon  it,  and  she  pointed :  — 

"  That 's  what  I  saw.  That !  He  '11  marry  her  now ! 
He  loves  her ! " 

"  Who  '11  marry  who  ?  What  do  you  mean,  —  are  you 
crazy?" 

"  It 's  Van,  —  Van !  Did  n't  you  know  he  loved  Mrs. 
Wiley  ?  He  never  loved  me !  he  hates,  me  I " 

Mrs.  Dexter  pressed  her  hand  tightly  against  her  heart. 
Truth  went  on  wildly :  "  I  was  goin'  to  tell  you  every- 
thing, —  I  promised  him  I  would,  —  but  I  had  n't  got 
the  courage  yet.  This  changes  everything !  There  is 
no  hope.  I  've  left  him.  He  's  goin'  to  give  me  up. 
And  now  he  '11  many  her  !  " 

Mrs.  Dexter  seized  both  of  Truth's  frantic  hands,  and 
gazed  steadily  into  the  tortured  face,  as  she  said :  "  Tell 
me  more  slowly,  dearie!  Mummie  cannot  understand 
when  you  talk  so  wildly.  Do  you  mean  that  you  are 
never  going  back  to  your  husband  ?  " 

"  Never ! "  cried  Truth,  beginning  now  to  sob  and 
shiver.  "  I  can't  go  back,  for  he  don't  want  me." 

21 


322  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Mrs.  Dexter  reseated  herself.  The  still  invincible 
spirit  mounted  to  its  throne  in  her  ashen  face. 

"  Can  you  compose  yourself  enough  to  tell  me  about 
it  now  ?  Or  would  you  rather  wait  until  —  " 

"  No,  no !"  broke  in  Truth.  "  We  need  n't  wait.  I'll 
tell  you  now.  I  wish  I  had  done  it  before  this  (she 
motioned  toward  the  paper)  ever  had  got  here." 

"  I  cannot  see  how  the  death  of  any  outsider,  even 
though  he  be  a  friend,  can  affect  the  relations  between 
a  lawfully  wedded  husband  and  wife." 

"But  Van  loves  Mrs.  Wiley.  He  wouldn't  say  he 
didn't." 

"  Truth  Dexter ! "  said  the  old  lady,  with  gentle 
dignity,  "  remember  you  are  speaking  of  a  married  man, 
—  my  grandson-in-law,  in  whom  I  have  every  confidence. 
This  woman  you  mention  is  scarcely  yet  a  widow." 

"But,  grandma,"  said  Truth,  in  more  rational  tones, 
"  she  did  n't  mind  being  married ;  and  her  —  friendship 
— with  Van  began  long  before  he  knew  me.  She  has 
been  my  enemy  ever  since  I  landed  in  Boston.  When 
she  was  in  England  I  was  happy,  —  that  was  the  only 
time.  I  used  to  pray  every  night  for  her  not  to  come 
back.  But  she  did  come,  and  before  long  she  began  per- 
secuting me.  Don't  you  remember  that  morning  when  I 
had  been  down  town  to  get  you  some  felt  slippers,  and 
somebody  came  into  the  hotel  with  me,  and  afterward 
you  found  me  with  a  dreadful  headache  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  well.  I  could  n't  imagine  at  the 
time  what  caused  so  sudden  a  turn." 

"  Well,  that  was  the  time  she  forced  herself  on  me,  and 
said  such  cruel  things." 

"  What  kind  of  things  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Truth,  flushing,  "she  said  that  I  was 
makin'  myself  ridiculous  by  lovin'  Van.  That  he  was  a 
laughin'-stock,  too,  and  that  all  Boston  knew  why  he  had 
married  me." 

"The  heartless  trollop!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dexter. 
"  But,  Truth,  I  can't  understand  your  listening  to  such 
a  vulgar  mischief-maker." 


SECRETS    REVEALED  323 

"  Oh,  mummie !  if  you  only  knew  how  I  tried  not  to. 
I  put  my  hands  to  my  ears.  I  almost  turned  her  from 
the  room,  —  but  she  did  n't  need  words.  It  was  all  in 
her  face." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  of  this  at  the  time  ?  I 
could  have  warned  you  against  believing  such  a  bag- 
gage." 

"  I  could  n't  bear  to  spoil  your  trip  South,  mummie. 
You  were  so  happy !  I  wanted  to  keep  the  torture  to 
myself  until  you  were  gone,  and  then  I  was  goin'  to 
ask  some  good  friend,  Mrs.  Adams,  or  Quincy,  or  Van 
himself." 

Mrs.  Dexter  almost  broke  down.  "  Poor  child !  To 
think  of  you  suffering  that  all  alone,  —  so  bravely !  " 

"But  I  wasn't  brave,  —  that's  the  trouble.  It  all 
came  out  before  I  wanted  it  to,  that  night  after  the 
concert." 

"Ah !     That  was  the  night  you  fainted !  " 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to,  really,"  she  said  penitently.  "  It 
was  all  my  fault,  for  that  night  I  forced  Van  into  listen- 
ing when  he  begged  and  pleaded  with  me  not  to." 

"  Oh,  Truth,  did  you  actually  attack  your  good,  kind 
husband  on  the  words  of  a  minx  like  that?  It  was  all 
she  wanted,  to  make  trouble  between  you  and  Van." 

"  It  was  n't  only  Mrs.  Wiley,  though  that  was  the 
stinging  part,  I  reckon.  You  don't  know  how  bitter  she 
was,  —  what  awful  things  she  insinuated !  She  was 
bound  to  part  us  if  she  could,  and  now  she  has  helped 
to  do  it.  Oh,  mummie,  I  've  lost  him  forever,  and  he  '11 
marry  her !  " 

"  Truth  Dexter ! "  cried  the  old  lady  in  a  ringing 
voice,  "  no  suffering  excuses  coarseness.  I  will  not 
stay  in  the  room  if  you  permit  yourself  such  low 
thoughts.  In  my  day  decent  people  did  not  speak  of 
married  men  marrying  other  women." 

Truth  was  taken  aback,  and  a  little  frightened.  "  But, 
grandma,"  she  faltered,  "you  don't  know  this  wicked 
world.  There  are  ways  — 

"  Those  ways  are  not  fit  subject  for  decent  conversa- 


324  TRUTH   DEXTER 

tion  either.  Now,  if  you  have  not  lost  your  senses  alto- 
gether, I  would  like  to  know  what  proof  you  have  that 
anything  the  woman  said  was  true." 

"  He  could  not  deny  what  I  asked  him." 

Mrs.  Dexter  caught  her  breath.  "  Did  you  try  to 
force  or  taunt  him  into  denial  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  I  did." 

"  Then  he  did  right  to  refuse.  I  have  no  patience 
with  a  man  who  allows  himself  to  be  bullied.  Are  you 
willing  to  tell  me  what  she  said  ?  " 

Truth  hung  her  head  still  lower.  "  She  hinted  that  he 
had  married  me  for  —  pique,  —  and  —  oh !  —  the  other 
is  too  horrible  even  to  think!" 

"  Money  ?  "  suggested  Mrs.  Dexter  in  a  strained  thread 
of  a  whisper. 

"Yes, — and  afterward  Mrs.  Adams  admitted  the 
same  thing." 

Mrs.  Dexter  struck  her  frail  hands  together,  and 
sprang  to  her  feet.  "  Oh,  that  money ! "  she  cried, 
"  oh,  the  curse  of  it !  It  killed  him,  —  it  is  eating  my 
heart  out  day  by  day,  and  now  is  it  to  ruin  my  child's 
life?" 

Truth  raised  her  face,  and  a  great  light  dawned  for 
her.  "  Do  you  feel  that  way,  too  ?  Oh,  then  it  will  be 
easier,  no  matter  what  happens !  Mummie,  it  was  the 
fortune,  after  all,  that  made  the  issue  between  us.  I 
said  that  I  would  not  go  on  livin'  on  blood-money. 
Maybe  what  she  said  did  something  to  make  me  hate  it 
more,  —  but  I  had  made  up  my  mind  before.  I  have 
never  been  satisfied  about  that  will,  —  only  I  was  too 
much  of  a  coward  to  speak." 

Mrs.  Dexter  stood  perfectly  silent  in  the  centre  of  the 
room.  Her  tense  figure  began  slowly  to  relax,  her 
clenched  hands  to  join  themselves  into  the  gentle  curves 
of  prayer,  and  into  her  face  came  a  look  of  ecstatic 
brightness.  "  Now  have  I  seen  the  glory  of  the  Lord  1 " 
she  murmured. 

A  moment  after,  to  Truth's  alarm,  she  had  sunk  to 
her  knees  and  was  sobbing  aloud,  as  if  in  confession,' — 


SECRETS    REVEALED  325 

"Oh,  my  baby!  You  are  the  brave  one,  and  I  the 
coward !  Yet  I  thank  Heaven  that  it  has  been  so.  Did 
you  never  suspect  how  the  bitterness  of  this  legacy  lias 
eaten  into  my  very  soul  ?  Everything  has  been  tinged 
with  blood  and  dishonor,  —  even  here,  the  improvements 
on  the  old  place,  the  very  grave  in  which  my  husband 
lies,  are  tainted.  You  seemed  happy,  and  I  hushed  my 
own  sorrow  for  your  sake.  I  thought  that  an  old  woman 
should  not  interpose  even  her  own  convictions  before  the 
bright  future  of  younger  lives.  I  thought  you  could  not 
feel  it  as  I  did.  But  we  will  pay  it  all  back  !  I  have 
learned  that  heavy,  old-fashioned  furniture  brings  high 
prices  in  the  North.  We  will  manage  in  some  way  to 
live,  and  clean  away  the  stains !  " 

"  I  told  him  that  I  would  teach,"  cried  Truth,  catch- 
ing the  excitement.  "  And  truly  I  will.  I  can't  throw 
away  the  education  that  I  have  got,  but  I  can  use  it  for 
our  South.  I  told  Van  this  that  night." 

But  the  mention  of  Van's  name  had  shattered  the  exal- 
tation of  Mrs.  Dexter's  mood.  She  rose  stiffly,  went  to 
the  washstand  in  an  adjoining  closet,  bathed  her  face, 
smoothed  her  hair,  and  reseated  herself  in  the  low  rocker 
beside  the  lamp.  Truth  drew  near  also,  taking  her  place 
on  a  little  stool  at  her  grandmother's  feet,  as  she  had  so 
often  sat  with  Van. 

"  Now,  dearie,  try  to  tell  me  quietly  just  what  you  said 
about  this  to  your  husband,  and  how  you  left  matters 
with  him." 

"  Well,  he  was  terribly  angry,  and  I  reckon  I  was,  too. 
I  told  him  that  I  would  never  be  his  wife  again,  and  that 
I  was  going  to  make  over  all  the  money  to  him." 

«« Did  he  say  that  he  would  take  it?  " 

"  No,  he  did  n't.  He  said  that  he  would  n't  have  it, 
and  that  it  was  n't  in  my  power  to  give  it  away  even  to 
him,  without  his  consent,  and  that  he  would  be  a  fool  to 
consent." 

"  Then  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  I  would  never  change  on  the  subject  of 
the  money,  and  he  would  have  to  choose  between  us. 


326  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Even  if  I  could  get  over  about  —  Mrs.  Wiley,  I  would 
never  live  again  on  that  dreadful  money." 

Mrs.  Dexter  leaned  forward.     "  And  he  hesitated  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Truth,  all  the  life  dying  out  of  her  face. 
"  He  's  hesitatin'  yet.  He  told  me  to  think  about  it  and 
talk  it  over  with  you.  And  now  I  wish  I  had  done  it 
sooner,  for  it 's  too  late !  " 

"  Too  late  ?  "  echoed  Mrs.  Dexter. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  see  ?  He  '11  take  the  money  now,  and 
his  freedom  too,  for  Mrs.  Wiley  is  free ! " 

Mrs.  Dexter  gave  a  sharp  exclamation  of  displeasure, 
and  was  beginning,  "  You  must  understand,  Truth,  once 
and  for  all,  — "  when  the  ghastly  pallor  of  the  young 
face  checked  her.  Truth  threw  out  one  hand  blindly, 
clutching  the  arm  of  her  grandmother's  chair,  and  in  a 
moment  more  had  fallen  in  a  semi-conscious  state. 

"  Oh,  what  is  it,  Truth  ?    What  is  it  ?    Are  you  sick  ?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  Truth  managed  to  gasp.  "  It  will  be  over 
in  a  moment.  It 's  only  one  of  those  dizzy  spells  that  I 
have  been  having  lately." 

Mrs.  Dexter  bent  to  look  with  an  almost  agonized  ear- 
nestness into  the  drawn  face,  and  noted,  as  if  for  the  first 
time,  how  big  the  eye-sockets  had  grown,  how  pale  and 
sad  the  mouth.  Was  there  not  something  unusual,  some- 
thing special,  in  that  bluish  pallor  ?  The  old  lady  caught 
her  breath  with  a  sudden  thought. 

"  Tell  me  more  of  this  dizziness,  Truth.  How  long 
have  you  felt  it?  At  what  hour  of  the  day  are  such 
attacks  likely  to  come?" 

Truth  answered  obediently  but  without  much  alacrity. 
This  sudden  interest  in  physical  details  seemed  to  her 
irrelevant  and  unimportant.  She  could  not  understand, 
either,  why  such  a  light  began  to  glow  from  Mrs.  Dex- 
ter's  eyes,  and  started  in  incredulous  wonder  as  the  cry 
rang  out,  "  Oh,  Truthie,  my  little  baby !  To  think  that 
I  have  never  suspected  this  before !  " 

"  Suspected  what,  mummie  ?     I  don't  understand  ! " 

"  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  understand  yet.  Go  to 
bed  now  and  get  all  the  rest  you  can.  I  must  write  to 


SECRETS    REVEALED  327 

Van.  Everything  is  going  to  be  all  right.  Van  is  not 
going  to  give  you  up."  The  old  lady  was  laughing  and 
crying  at  the  same  time.  "  You  '11  know  before  long. 
Now  go  to  bed,  like  a  good  child,  and  don't  you  worry 
one  minute  longer !  " 

Truth  went  upstairs  in  a  dazed  condition.  "  Well  I  " 
she  ejaculated  to  herself,  "  everybody  seems  to  do  funny 
things  lately,  —  even  grandma  !  Now  what  could  have 
made  her  so  happy  all  of  a  sudden  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

ANNUNCIATION 

THE  next  day,  as  though  in  atonement  for  a  week  of 
rain,  came  in  warm,  windless,  and  full  of  sunshine.  The 
long  galleries  and  mossy  shingled  roofs  sent  up  blue 
clouds  of  mist ;  the  ground  smoked  like  a  furnace.  All 
the  birds  of  the  forest  awoke  at  once.  Crows,  jay-birds, 
thrushes,  red-birds,  yellow-hammers,  and  mocking-birds 
chattered  in  a  community  of  domestic  joy,  and  hopped 
from  limb  to  limb,  carrying  in  tight-closed  beaks  small 
bits  of  straw  and  moss,  more  precious  now  than  the  most 
thrilling  of  songs. 

Truth  wondered  whether  it  was  the  effect  of  the  day 
or  whether  indeed  her  grandmother's  morning  greeting 
hinted  of  tenderness  unfelt  before.  Certainly  the  minute 
inquiries  about  her  health  were  unusual. 

During  that  day  no  reference  was  made  to  the  conver- 
sation of  the  previous  night,  not  even  when  Truth  saw 
a  thick  letter  intrusted  to  Nickey's  care. 

Avoidance  suited  Truth's  mood.  The  agony  of  mind 
through  which  she  had  passed  brought,  as  reaction,  a 
sort  of  desperate  turning  to  impersonality.  She  threw 
herself  into  the  arms  of  the  day,  more  than  content  to 
wander,  unthinking  and  unremembering,  among  budding 
shrubs  and  springing  grass.  The  warm  and  perfumed 
air  intoxicated  like  a  drug ;  realities  dissolved  with  the 
mists  of  morning. 

The  following  day  shamed  the  first  for  brightness. 
Immediately  after  breakfast  Mrs.  Dexter  announced  her 
intention  of  "  airing  "  a  certain  old  trunk  while  the  sun- 
shine lasted.  Truth  was  fascinated  by  the  provocation 
in  her  grandmother's  smile.  Could  it  be  entirely  her 
own  fancy  that  gave  that  secretive  sparkle  to  the  old 


ANNUNCIATION  329 

lady's  eyes,  —  that  quizzical,  almost  jocose  intonation  to 
every  spoken  word  ? 

Mrs.  Dexter,  like  all  good  Southern  housekeepers,  had 
two  great  house-cleanings  a  year.  One  took  place  in 
autumn,  in  which  summer  draperies,  hall  mattings,  and 
linen  chair-covers  were  scrubbed  or  boiled,  according  to 
their  kind,  after  which  neat  straw  casings  received  them 
for  the  winter.  Summer  garments  were  "  rough-dried  " 
and  stored  away  in  "  deer- tongue  "  and  chipped  cedar 
wood.  Andirons  were  repolished  and  set  into  place  ; 
quilts  exhumed  from  scented  nooks,  winter  clothing  un- 
packed, sunned  and  hung,  ready  for  use,  in  the  big  ward- 
robes. The  spring  cleaning  was,  naturally,  a  reversal  of 
this  entire  process ;  but  in  both  the  old  house  underwent 
a  scourge  of  scrubbing-brushes  and  yellow  soap.  Par- 
ticular care  had  always  attended  the  order  of  procedure  ; 
so  many  days  were  given  to  "  beating,"  so  many  to  scrub- 
bing, and  the  last  allotted  to  examining  and  repacking 
old  trunks.  When,  therefore,  Truth  heard  the  order 
given  to  bring  from  the  remotest  attic  closet  the  most 
venerable  of  all  these  sarcophagi  of  memory,  she  was 
justified  in  feeling  something  more  than  ordinary  sur- 
prise. 

The  old  lady  bustled  upstairs,  her  keys  jangling  as  she 
went.  Following  her  appeared  the  entire  household  force, 
—  Uncle  Norah,  Nickey,  Poline,  the  maid,  Aunt  Big 
Mary,  and,  as  a  recruit,  long  Sam  Turner  of  the  stables. 

When  at  last  the  heavy  box  stood  in  Mrs.  Dexter's 
bedroom,  and  the  servants  had  vanished,  Truth,  with  an 
effort  at  interest,  remarked,  "  What  a  queer,  old-fashioned 
trunk  it  is,  with  that  round  top,  and  the  brass  nails  1  I 
don't  seem  to  remember  seeing  that  one  before." 

"  No,  it  has  not  been  brought  down  often.  It  was  my 
wedding-trunk.  We  thought  it  very  fine  in  those  days." 

With  the  opening  of  the  lid  Truth's  interest  increased. 
Across  the  inside,  on  the  curving  top,  a  procession  of 
fashionable  belles  of  the  period  appeared ;  simpering 
"Amelias  "  in  unbelievable  hoop-skirts,  and  with  small 
ruffled  parasols  held  daintily. 


330  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Truth  laughed.  "Did  you  ever  dress  like  that, 
grandma?" 

"  Indeed,  I  did !  I  have  such  a  dress  and  bonnet  in 
this  very  trunk,  the  one  I  was  wearing  when  your 
grandpa  first  saw  me."  A  faint  flush  stole  into  the 
withered  cheeks.  Truth  laughed  again,  teasingly,  at 
which  the  blush  deepened. 

The  old  lady  stooped  over  and  began  turning  up  the 
corners  of  articles  folded  in  the  upper  tray.  "  There  's 
nothing  here  but  old  letters  and  a  few  Confederate  sou- 
venirs. Now  help  me  lift  out  the  till.  It's  heavy! 
Carefully,  dear!" 

In  the  next  "  till "  lay  the  dress  of  which  she  had 
spoken,  —  a  pretty  silk  of  cherry  color  and  black,  in  tiny- 
checks  ;  very  small  and  plain  in  the  waist,  but  with  a 
skirt  like  a  circus-tent.  The  bonnet  was  crushed  beyond 
recognition  of  a  shape.  The  cherry  bows  showed  streaks 
of  faded  yellow. 

Something  indescribably  pathetic  lives  in  old  trunks. 
They  are  the  true  lurking-places  of  memory,  the  strong- 
holds of  the  past.  Museums  and  Art  Galleries  may 
shelter  long  lines  of  classified  antiquity,  but  in  a  trunk 
the  only  method  of  classification  is  love.  Useless  things 
here  are  the  precious ;  and  the  history  of  a  broken  heart 
is  often  written  in  a  worn-out  glove,  a  tawdry  valentine, 
a  little  pair  of  toeless  boots. 

Truth  kept  her  eyes  lowered  as  the  old  lady  lifted 
this  dress,  smoothed  its  wrinkled  folds  in  silence,  and 
laid  it  back. 

Under  the  light,  shallow  tray  the  main  part  of  the 
trunk  appeared.  Truth's  attention  flew  to  a  large  box 
of  green  pasteboard,  very  shiny,  and  with  corners 
battered  to  a  brown  pulp. 

"  What 's  in  that  big  green  box  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  What  we  're  after,"  said  Mrs.  Dexter,  importantly. 
"  Come,  help  me  lift  it  on  the  bed."  Mrs.  Dexter  panted 
a  little,  more  in  excitement,  it  would  seem,  than  from 
exertion.  "  It  is  for  you  to  open,  Truth." 

"  Me ! "  said  Truth  in  surprise.     She  lifted  the  cover 


ANNUNCIATION  331 

warily,  as  Pandora  might  have  lifted  her  box.  The  odor 
of  camphor  and  stored  years  flooded  the  room.  Under  a 
layer  of  tissue  lay  the  long,  white  robe  of  an  infant. 

"  A  baby's  dress !  "  said  Truth  in  a  tone  of  hushed 
wonder. 

"  That  is  not  all.     Take  it  out !  " 

Underneath  spread  a  white  petticoat,  embroidered  al- 
most to  the  band,  then  a  yellow  flannel  shirt,  also  heavily 
worked.  A  little  cap  came  next,  a  tiny  shirt,  a  jacket  of 
faded  pink,  and  last,  a  pair  of  tiny  slippers  of  quilted  white 
silk.  Truth's  hands  trembled  until  she  could  scarcely 
hold  the  things.  A  faint  embarrassment  crept  over  her. 
"  Why,  grandma,  you  never  showed  me  these  before  !  " 

"  You  might  not  have  appreciated  them  before,"  re- 
joined the  other,  with  a  sort  of  chuckle. 

"  But  whose  were  they  ?  Why  have  you  kept  them  so 
long?" 

"  This  is  a  christening  set.  You  wore  it,  and  John, 
your  father,  before  you.  Such  hand-work  cannot  be 
bought  these  days.  Just  look  at  that  little  shirt  I  It  is 
like  spider-webs ! " 

"  Or  meshes  of  moonbeams, "  said  Truth,  dreamily. 
She  caressed  the  exquisite  fabric  in  silence,  and  then 
thrust  two  fingers  through  the  arm-holes.  "I  wonder 
why,"  she  said  at  length,  "  baby-clothes  make  you  feel 
so  funny,  —  with  a  sort  of  happy  ache  at  your  heart  1  " 
Mrs.  Dexter  watched  every  expression  of  her  face  as 
a  chemist  watches  a  changing  fluid.  Something  in  the 
old  lady's  shining  eyes  made  Truth  drop  her  own.  She 
stooped  to  return  the  little  garment,  and,  in  doing  so, 
caught  sight  of  an  old  rattle,  a  bauble  of  pearl  and 
tarnished  silver.  One  of  the  four  bells  was  broken ;  the 
remaining  three  gave  out  a  stiff,  flat  tinkle.  Truth 
toyed  with  it  an  instant,  then  threw  it  to  the  bed.  "  It 
sounds  like  the  laughter  of  dead  children,"  she  said  with 
a  shudder. 

Mrs.  Dexter  took  it  in  her  hand.  "  Not  dead  children, 
only  dead  years,"  she  said  with  gentle  reproof.  "  Our 
loved  ones  cannot  die,  for  they  live  in  our  hearts.  Look, 


332  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Truth !  Your  first  little  teeth  were  cut  on  that  handle. 
You  can  see  the  scratches  yet !  " 

"  I  don't  like  sad,  old  things,"  said  Truth,  petulantly ; 
"  I  like  live,  new  ones !  " 

"  That  is  good  news,"  said  Mrs.  Dexter,  gravely,  in  a 
voice  which  she  strove  hard  to  make  natural,  "  for  it  is 
about  new  ones  that  I  was  going  to  speak  this  morning. 
This  is  only  a  christening  set,  you  see.  All  John's  other 
baby-clothes  I  gave  away  during  the  war,  and  yours, 
poor  child,  were  not  worth  preserving.  We  had  lost 
everything,  then.  But  we  've  got  these  as  a  beginning, 
and  the  best  thing  for  us  now  is  to  add  new  ones  as  fast 
as  we  can." 

"  New  ones  1 "  echoed  Truth,  incredulously.  The 
strange  light  burned  again  in  her  grandmother's  eyes. 
A  fit  of  trembling  came,  apparently,  without  cause.  "  I 
—  don't  —  know  what  you  —  mean  —  by  new  ones  ! "  — 
but  even  as  she  spoke  the  angel's  wing  touched  her. 

Mrs.  Dexter  threw  out  both  arms  with  a  cry.  "  Oh, 
my  baby !  my  little  Truthie !  Have  you  never  guessed  ?  " 

Truth  stared  a  moment  as  one  bereft  of  reason,  then 
fell  to  her  knees.  The  agony  of  dread  and  love  and  joy 
was  almost  too  much.  The  old  dizziness  swept  down, 
but  this  time  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  physical  rapture. 
She  could  not  meet  Mrs.  Dexter's  eyes  for  the  very 
poignant  sweetness  of  her  shame. 

The  innocence  in  which  many  young  girls  of  the 
South  are  still  reared  would  seem  incredible  to  their 
more  advanced  Northern  sisters.  Matrimony  is  a  ro- 
mantic mystery,  nothing  more ;  and  realities  which  in 
themselves  are  pure,  being  of  God's  determination,  seem 
to  these  poor  vestals  something  to  be  endured  in  shame 
and  silence.  Absurd  it  may  be,  and  archaic,  and,  in 
some  sense,  cruel;  yet  something  may  be  said  for  a 
system  which,  in  this  pragmatic  age,  can  yield  the  possi- 
bility of  a  new  Annunciation. 

The  two  women  sat,  entwined  in  a  wordless  embrace, 
for  many  long,  blessed  minutes.  Then  Truth  put  out  a 
shaking  hand  toward  the  little  robe.  With  her  face  bent 


ANNUNCIATION 

over  its  folds  she  whispered,  "  Muramie,  was  this  why 
you  said  things  were  going  to  come  out  right?" 

"  It  was,  my  precious." 

"But,"  Truth's  cheeks  burned  deeper,  "how  will  he 
ever  know  ?  You  could  n't  —  " 

"  But  I  have  !  "  cried  the  old  lady  in  triumph.  "  Of 
course  I  worded  it  in  the  most  delicate  way,  and  was 
perfectly  circumspect  in  all  my  phrases,  —  but  that  was 
the  letter  I  sent  to  the  station  by  Nickey  yesterday 
morning.  I  did  n't  dare  to  trust  the  village  post- office  ; 
Mr.  Calvert  is  growing  so  careless." 

Truth's  face  went  down  into  the  baby's  robe  ;  the  red 
of  her  cheeks  tinged  the  cambric  into  a  nebulous  dawn. 
"  I  wish  I  felt  sure  it  would  make  a  difference." 

Mrs.  Dexter  drew  the  fluffy  golden  head  to  her  breast 
as  she  answered,  "  We  have  to  trust  our  Heavenly 
Father  for  all  great  blessings,  dear;  but  I  am  an  old 
woman  and  know  more  of  life  than  you.  I  do  not 
believe  it  possible  for  me  to  have  liked  and  respected 
a  man  who  could  be  heartless  enough  to  desert  you  after 
he  hears  this  sweet  secret,  even  if  he  had  been  tempted 
before  to  think  of  such  a  dreadful  sin." 

"  But  he  was  n't  going  to  desert  me,  grandma.  I  am 
the  wicked  one,  for  I  came  away  from  him  !  " 

Mrs.  Dexter's  brow  grew  troubled.  "  That  was  a 
terrible  step  to  take,  my  child,  but  you  had  a  noble  pur- 
pose in  taking  it.  After  all,  it  is  merely  a  misunder- 
standing. God  is  not  going  to  let  the  malice  of  a  bad 
woman,  or  the  love  of  gold  come  between  those  whom 
he  has  joined." 

"  But  just  supposing  that  He  should"  persisted  Truth, 
"  would  you  think  that  I  had  been  wicked  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  hard  question.  I  have  always  considered 
marriage  the  most  sacred  of  human  relations,  —  but,  in 
these  strange  circumstances,  I  cannot  say  I  would  think 
you  were  to  blame." 

"But  still  you  feel  that  Van  will  —  be  good,  don't 
you  ?  "  The  entreaty  in  her  eyes  was  almost  unbearable. 

"  Indeed  I  do  1     I  feel  as  sure  that  all  is  going  to  turn 


TRUTH    DEXTER 

out  right,  as  I  do  that  God  is  just  and  kind.  Now  don't 
worry  about  it  another  minute !  Fretting  is  the  very 
worst  thing  you  could  do.  You  must  fix  your  mind  on 
bright  and  good  and  noble  things.  Won't  you  try  to  do 
this,  darling,  for  mummie's  sake  ?  " 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Truth.  "  And  I  know  I  can  suc- 
ceed. The  world  is  so  beautiful  that  nobody  can  be 
really  unhappy  in  it,  no  matter  what  happens ! " 

The  two  sat  together  in  silence,  each  with  separate, 
engrossing  thoughts ;  then  Truth  rose  and  bore  the  long, 
green  box  in  triumph  to  her  room. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE  LAST  GKIN  OF  THE  BUDDHA 

CRAIGHEAD'S  lonely  struggles  toward  a  solution  of  this 
unprecedented  domestic  problem  must  be  passed  over 
lightly.  At  one  moment  he  felt  himself  a  lion  that 
has  been  betrayed  into  a  showman's  hands,  arid  must 
maintain  an  artificial  existence  of  distasteful  luxury 
by  going  through  the  antics  of  a  tame  poodle ;  at  an- 
other an  ordinary  thief  or  fortune  hunter,  who  has  been 
caught  in  the  act,  and  now  must  either  disgorge  his  booty, 
or  stand  in  the  public  stocks. 

His  strongest  feeling  against  Truth  came  from  what 
he  called  her  unreasonable,  unpardonable,  idiotic,  preju- 
dice. In  his  heart  he  knew  that  Mrs.  Dexter  would  up- 
hold her  granddaughter,  and  so  the  elder  lady,  also,  came 
in  for  a  share  of  disapprobation.  "  Talk  of  Puritan  nar- 
rowness 1  "  he  once  cried  to  himself,  "  this  goes  ahead 
of  witch-burning  and  self-torture  in  one.  I  wonder 
why  good  women  have  such  a  devilish  longing  after 
self-sacrifice.  The  present  case  is  Puritanism  of  the 
worst  type,  mixed  with  a  virus  of  negro  superstition. 
They  think  the  Colonel  died  because  of  the  money, 
and  are  afraid  to  keep  on  using  it.  I'll  be  well  rid 
of  the  whole  affair!" 

In  calmer  moments  the  pathetic  honesty  of  the  two 
women  stirred  him,  and  he  recognized  the  strange  un- 
worldliness  of  their  view.  He  thought  of  Truth's  de- 
termination to  teach,  that  she  might  not  only  support 
herself  and  her  grandmother,  but  pay  back  what  had 
been  spent  in  repairs  for  the  Big  House.  Van  could 
not  forbear  a  smile.  "  I  must  warn  old  Noah  to  keep 
accounts  to  himself,"  he  muttered. 


336  TRUTH    DEXTER 

At  no  time  had  the  temptation  to  keep  the  fortune  for 
himself  occurred,  though  he  had  thought  of  more  than 
one  plan  by  which  he  might  seem  to  yield  to  Truth,  and 
give  up  the  money,  while  at  the  same  time  he  left  the 
bulk  of  it  in  a  way  to  be  easily  regained.  The  impos- 
sibility of  this,  however,  soon  made  itself  apparent  to 
him.  Truth  might  be  innocent,  but  she  was  no  fool. 
She  would  inquire  into  matters  for  herself. 

Again,  the  blame  of  the  whole  situation  would  be 
thrown  upon  Orchid.  "  If  it  had  n't  been  for  her  cursed 
hints  that  the  beastly  money  had  played  a  part  in  my 
matrimonial  affairs,  Truth  would  never  have  been  driven 
to  take  this  stand.  She  might  have  fretted  a  bit,  for  a 
few  years  to  come,  but  polish  and  wider  experience 
would  have  kept  her  from  making  an  ass  of  herself.  It 
is  n't  the  Colonel  at  all,  —  she  only  wants  to  see  whether 
I  care  for  the  money  or  for  her,  and  has  n't  logic  or  wis- 
dom enough  to  recognize  that  I  must,  necessarily,  put 
her  own  interests  before  mine.  Why  could  n't  Orchid 
have  stayed  in  England  !  " 

More  than  once,  however,  such  waves  of  disgust  and 
distaste  of  the  whole  problem  swept  down  upon  him  that 
he  was  tempted  to  solve  the  riddle  by  rashness,  to  write 
or  wire  to  Truth,  "  Have  your  own  way,"  and  trust  to 
luck  for  the  future.  The  game  was  n't  worth  the  candle. 
He  did  not  want  to  give  Truth  up ;  people  would  talk, 
Orchid  plume  herself  for  the  rest  of  her  natural  life, 
and,  after  all,  it  would  be  a  caddish  thing.  But  the 
moment  in  which  he  should  say  "  I  give  in,"  was  bit- 
ter to  contemplate.  To  most  strong  men  this  is  the 
severest  of  all  tests,  and  Craighead  was  unusually  self- 
willed.  No,  it  would  not  be  right  to  Truth  should  he 
yield  without  making  at  least  one  powerful  effort  to  con- 
vince her  of  her  folly.  He  had  already  jotted  down  many 
headings  for  an  irresistible  and  convincing  letter  that  he 
was  going  to  write  hen  The  first  two  sheets  lay,  indeed, 
already  written,  though  undated,  in  the  drawer  of  his 
"Hanover"  desk. 

In  the  very  midst  of  these  unpleasant  cogitations  came 


LAST    GRIN    OF    THE    BUDDHA      337 

the  news  of  Tom  Wiley's  death.  Norton  looked  a  little 
frightened  as  he  repeated  it ;  his  eyes  seemed  to  say, 
"  What 's  going  to  happen  next  ?  " 

Craighead  was  one  of  the  honorary  pall-bearers,  and 
was  asked  to  be  present  at  the  reading  of  the  will,  on 
the  following  afternoon.  This  was  the  afternoon  of  the 
evening  on  which  Truth  had  read  the  announcement  in 
the  paper. 

At  this  mournful  function  Craighead  heard  that  Orchid 
was  left  sole  heir  to  the  immense  fortune,  and  that  he, 
Craighead,  was  one  of  the  executors. 

Two  days  later  came  what  he  had  been  dreading  most 
of  all,  a  summons  from  Orchid  herself.  "  Will  you  come 
this  evening?  I  shall  be  alone  from  eight  to  ten.  I 
must  see  you  at  once." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  acquiescence.  During  the 
day  he  kept  his  mind  as  much  as  possible  from  the  com- 
ing interview,  but  Norton  and  the  office  boy  observed 
that  he  was  in  "  the  deuce  of  a  temper."  He  wrote  sev- 
eral more  pages  of  his  letter  to  Truth,  and  the  expres- 
sions he  used  were  not  conciliatory. 

A  few  moments  past  eight  he  entered  the  familiar 
doorway.  James,  the  footman,  once  so  gorgeous  in  gold 
and  green,  was  now  a  very  crow  for  blackness.  This 
gave  a  first  sharp  realization  of  the  changed  condition 
of  affairs.  James,  he  fancied,  eyed  him  with  suspicion. 
His  voice  had  a  lugubrious  croak  which  matched  well 
his  inky  livery  as  he  requested  the  guest  to  "  Henter 
the  draw'n'-room." 

It  was  the  same  room,  however,  not  changed  in  a 
single  degree  since  he  and  Orchid  had  fought  their  last 
battle  of  wills.  The  fat,  sleek  Buddha  dozed  in  his  cor- 
ner, and  incense  rose  thinly  against  the  gleam  of  his 
bare  chest. 

Orchid  came  toward  Van  so  quietly  that  he  did  not 
hear  her  footsteps.  She  sighed,  and  he  turned  with  a 
start.  Here  was  another  surprise.  Could  this  be 
Orchid,  —  this,  the  radiant,  dazzling  creature  that  had 
tormented  his  dreams  as  well  as  his  waking  hours? 

22 


338  TRUTH    DEXTER 

The  woman  who  now  stood  passively  before  him  was 
young,  colorless,  and  pathetic  beyond  all  imagining. 
Her  hair,  usually  an  aureole  of  glittering  strands,  was 
brushed  back  into  sleek  smoothness,  and  wound  in  a 
coil  low  at  the  back  of  her  neck.  The  red  and  gold 
were  faded,  and  it  seemed  only  a  little  richer  in  hue 
than  the  brown  of  an  average  woman's  hair.  The  long, 
trailing  gown,  all  of  crape,  was  opened  the  least  bit  at 
the  throat,  as  if  for  easier  drooping  of  the  small,  shining 
head.  Her  cheeks  were  absolutely  colorless,  her  lips 
nearly  so,  yet  there  was  something  in  her  beauty  that 
Craighead  had  never  seen  before,  —  something  that 
made  his  heart  sink. 

Awkwardly  he  achieved  a  formal  bow  and  muttered 
some  set  words  of  conventional  sympathy. 

Orchid  ignored  them. 

"  You  sent  for  me  ?  "  he  began  tentatively. 

"  Yes ;  will  you  be  seated  ?  "  She  motioned  to  a  seat 
near  the  fire,  and  placed  herself  upon  a  slight  black  chair 
of  carved  teakwood.  Against  the  dark  branches  her 
face  was  like  a  forgotten  lily  among  charred  stalks. 

The  gentleness  of  her  mood  disarmed  Craighead,  yet, 
at  the  same  instant  irritated  him.  It  was  more  threaten- 
ing than  emotion. 

"  I  am  entirely  at  your  service,"  he  said,  when  a  con- 
siderable pause  had  elapsed. 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  She  recalled  her  thoughts  with  a  little 
nervous  catching  of  the  breath.  "  It  was  good  of  you 
to  come.  I  wanted  to  say  first  of  all  —  to  tell  you  — 
that  I  had  no  idea  you  were  to  be  an  executor.  I  was 
as  much  surprised  as  yourself.  Pray  do  not  consider  it 
a  service  that  binds  you,  —  except  so  far  as  you  would 
wish  it  to  bind." 

"  You  are  most  generous,  I  am  sure.  But  Tom  has 
always  been  my  friend  —  "  He  broke  off  and  colored 
faintly. 

Orchid  was  staring  into  the  fire.  Her  eyes  were  big 
and  dark  as  those  of  a  Southern  quadroon. 

"Tell  me  something  of  —  the  last;  that  is,  if  the  sub- 


LAST    GRIN    OF    THE    BUDDHA     339 

ject  is  not  too  painful.  Did  you  have  no  word  from 
him?" 

"  No,  not  a  word,  —  not  a  look.  I  did  not  even  reach 
home  to  see  him  alive.  I  had  to  be  sent  for,  —  to  a 
ladies'  luncheon.  I  was  dressed  in  red,  laughing,  vain, 
showy,  and  heartless,  —  as  I  always  was." 

"  Now,  Orchid,"  Van  remonstrated,  "  that  is  pure 
morbidness !  You  have  nothing  whatever  to  reproach 
yourself  with.  Even  had  you  been  at  home,  it  would 
have  been  useless.  He  never  regained  consciousness, 
after  the  first  blow." 

"  That  is  what  they  say.  But  I  can't  help  fancying 
that  had  I  been  at  home  —  as  I  never  am  —  my  voice 
could  have  recalled  him.  You  know,  he  —  he  —  loved 
me ! "  She  choked,  and  put  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes. 

"  Of  course  he  loved  you !  And  for  that  very  reason 
you  ought  not  to  torture  yourself  with  these  useless 
thoughts." 

"  But  you  don't  know  how  I  miss  him ! "  she  said 
piteously.  "  I  never  dreamed  it  would  be  this  way.  It 
grows  worse  each  hour  !  " 

Craighead  did  not  speak. 

She  moved  restlessly,  took  her  handkerchief  from  her 
eyes,  and  glanced  at  him  for  the  first  time  since  they 
had  been  seated. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  thinking  that  I  deserve  it  all,  that 
I  never  appreciated  him  while  alive,  and  it  is  a  just  retri- 
bution to  miss  him  now.  All  the  old  women  will  say 
that.  But  you  know  I  never  made  him  unhappy.  He 
always  believed  in  me  and  was  proud  of  my  success." 

"  I  neither  thought  nor  could  think  anything  to  the 
contrary,"  said  Van,  gravely.  "  Now,  tell  me  what  I 
can  do  for  you,  and  —  him." 

Orchid's  little  outburst  of  petulance  was  already  gone. 
"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  she  said  in  a  lifeless  voice. 
"I  hoped  that  you  could  suggest  something.  I  must 
get  away  somewhere !  It  does  n't  matter  where,  only 
away  from  Boston  —  and  this  house  I  His  footsteps  are 


340  TRUTH    DEXTER 

never  out  of  the  corridor.  I  dare  not  look  in  a  mirror, 
for  fear  of  seeing  his  face  behind  my  own  !  "  She  glanced 
over  her  shoulder  at  the  long  pier-glass,  and  shuddered. 

"  Yes,  you  must  go ! "  said  Craighead  with  decision. 
"  You  are  utterly  morbid." 

"  Everybody  says  the  same  thing,"  cried  his  com- 
panion, peevishly.  "  Can't  you  find  anything  more 
original  ? "  Then  all  at  once,  to  Craighead's  dismay, 
she  began  to  cry,  —  not  violently  or  with  passion,  but 
like  a  tired  child  that  longs  to  be  comforted. 

Craighead  shut  his  teeth  close.  "  Of  course  it  had 
to  come,"  he  was  saying  to  himself.  "  I  was  prepared 
for  it.  Maybe  she  does  miss  poor  old  Tom,  as  she 
says.  But  why  need  she  try  to  harrow  up  my  feel- 
ings?" He  thought  of  her  disloyalty  to  Truth  and 
was  hardened. 

"  Mrs.  Wiley,"  he  began  lamely,  "  believe  me,  I  sym- 
pathize with  you  most  deeply  in  this  affliction,  and  wish 
to  do  all  that  is  in  my  power  to  help  you.  Shall  I  try 
to  think  of  some  quiet  retreat  where  you  may  go  until 
the  first  shock  of  your  grief  is  over  ?  " 

Orchid,  still  sobbing,  turned  her  face  from  him  to  lean 
against  the  back  of  her  chair. 

"  Florida  ?  "  went  on  Van,  more  lamely  still.  "  South- 
ern California  ?  —  or  even  one  of  the  more  quiet  retreats 
of  Europe?"  The  bathos  of  his  own  tone  nauseated 
him. 

Orchid  rose  and  walked  to  the  far  end  of  the  room,  — 
to  the  Buddha's  corner,  —  as  if  for  self-control.  When 
she  returned,  her  cheeks  and  eyelids  had  that  slight  tinge 
of  pink  that  we  see  in  the  petals  of  a  cyclamen,  but  there 
were  no  other  signs  of  weeping. 

"  I  fear  that  I  have  already  demanded  too  much  of 
you,"  she  said  coldly.  "  You  are  doubtless  engrossed  in 
your  own  affairs,  and  I  have  no  right  to  expect  special 
interest  in  mine.  Besides,  I  might  have  known  you 
could  not  understand, — you,  whose  heart  has  never 
ached!" 

Craighead  looked  at  her  sharply,  as  one  parries  a  rapier- 


LAST    GRIN    OF    THE    BUDDHA      341 

thrust.  She  returned  the  look  in  calm  frankness,  but 
with  disappointment  in  him  written  plainly  on  her 
face. 

He  felt  himself  dismissed;  and,  as  is  the  way  with 
vain  man,  resented  the  release. 

"  I  have  no  desire  or  intention  of  shirking  my  duties 
as  executor,"  he  said  stiffly.  "  Will  you  not  do  me  the 
honor  of  prolonging  the  interview  until  we  shall  have 
discussed  more  fully  the  trip  you  propose  taking  ?  " 

Orchid  seated  herself  in  silence.  Her  head  was  erect 
now,  and  the  exquisite  color  in  her  cheeks  a  little  deeper. 

"  Had  you  thought  of  taking  your  parents  ?  " 

"  No  !  It  is  a  horrible  thing  to  say,  but  I  do  not  care 
for  either  of  my  parents,  —  and  now,  with  their  black 
garments  and  incessant  allusions  to  *poor,  dear  Tom,' 
they  remind  me  of  vultures.  No,  if  I  go,  it  must  be 
alone ! " 

"  But  surely,  a  maid  —  "  began  Van. 

"  Oh,  that ! "  she  said  carelessly.  "  I  suppose  so. 
That  is  one  of  the  necessary  evils." 

"  Even  with  a  maid,  it  seems  a  little  unusual,  does  it 
not?" 

"  The  commonplace  would  be  unusual  for  me,"  said 
Orchid  with  a  faint  smile. 

Another  prolonged  silence  fell  upon  the  room.  Craig- 
head  had  never  felt  more  awkward  and  ill  at  ease. 

Orchid's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  fire.  Without  re- 
moving them  her  tense  figure  began  to  relax,  her  breath 
came  more  softly ;  she  leaned  forward,  and  clasped  her 
hands  loosely  upon  her  knees.  How  white  they  were 
against  the  crape  !  At  last  she  began  to  speak,  slowly, 
as  if  to  herself. 

"  Europe  will  be  the  best.  Yes,  Europe  !  One  can 
forget  there,  where  the  very  streets  are  ashen  with 
memory.  I  will  pluck  those  transmuted  films  of  blood, 
called  poppies,  from  the  mould  of  Caesar's  Palace,  and 
the  small  green  iris  that  springs,  like  a  laugh,  from 
the  living  death  of  Pompeii.  My  friend,  Vesuvius,  will 
welcome  me.  I  always  smile  to  see  those  grim,  deter- 


342  TRUTH    DEXTER 

rained  slopes,  —  knowing  the  lake  of  raging  fire  within. 
What  a  death  to  die  !  One  plunge  into  that  sea  of  pas- 
sion —  " 

"  An  old  Roman  Philosopher  once  tried  it,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,"  interposed  Van.  "  His  toga  caught  on  a 
rock,  and  he  hung  in  mid-air  until  some  passer-by 
plucked  him  off." 

Orchid  went  on  as  though  he  had  not  spoken. 

"  And  from  Italy  I  would  drift  into  the  East :  Egypt, 
with  its  yellow  sands,  and  hard,  blue  sky ;  India ;  Cey- 
lon, which  is  the  cradle  of  a  mighty  creed ;  then  to  that 
great  sleepy  prophecy,  China  ;  and  to  Japan,  the  home 
of  artists  and  flowers.  Do  you  remember  how  we  have 
talked  of  Japan  and  her  future,  Van  ?  But  it  is  no  pro- 
gressive land  that  I  would  seek,  —  not  now,  at  least.  I 
want  the  real  East,  the  mystic  East,  where  crystals  of 
thought  are  hid,  and  that  great  silence  which  underlies 
all  harmony.  It  is  to  these  places  that  I  shall  go,  Van. 
And  —  I  must  go  alone  !  "  Her  wonderful  voice  sank 
as  a  wind  that  dies  above  a  harp. 

It  was  Craighead's  turn  to  move  restlessly.  Common- 
places would  be  blasphemous.  She  rose  and  stood  beside 
him.  "  Yes,  I  shall  go,"  she  repeated,  "  and  then  you  can 
say,  '  She  is  gone  out  of  my  life  at  last.  She  will  never 
disturb  my  peace  again.'  Shall  you  be  glad  ?  " 

"  I  presume  I  shall,"  said  Van  with  a  heavy  sigh. 
Then,  with  a  quick  change  of  tone,  "  Why  were  you  so 
cruel  to  my  poor  Truth,  —  and  so  treacherous  to  me  ?  " 

Orchid  smiled  into  his  eyes  as  she  answered,  "  A 
woman  who  loves  as  I  love  will  do  anything !  " 

Craighead  sprang  to  his  feet  in  a  revulsion  of  feeling, 
but  with  every  vein  in  his  body  tingling.  "  Orchid, 
Orchid!  Think  what  you  have  just  been  saying  of 
Tom ! " 

"  That  was  true,  —  yet  this  is  truer.  The  love  is  a 
circle  ;  the  grief  for  Tom,  a  dot !  "  Suddenly  she  threw 
both  hands  to  her  head,  in  the  vehement  gesture  he  re- 
membered, —  "  Oh,  it  is  freedom  to  suffer ! "  she  cried 
passionately.  "  It  is  rapture  to  be  able  to  grieve  openly  ! 


Tom  has  spent  his  life  heaping  me  with  kindnesses  ;  he 
never  did  me  a  greater  one  than  this.  Yes,  you  look 
shocked  —  but  my  words  convince  and  compel.  You 
have  heard  of  the  newspaper  funny-man  who  wrote 
jokes  while  his  only  child  lay  in  the  next  room  —  dying. 
I  have  been  living  jokes  in  society  in  the  same  way  ever 
since  your  marriage.  What  I  have  suffered  might  set 
a  new  scale  for  a  Calvinistic  hell !  By  the  way,"  she 
added  sharply,  "  I  hear  your  wife  is  in  the  South  again. 
Is  it  true  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  in  the  South,  tortured  and  heart-broken 
by  the  cruel  things  you  said  to  her." 

"  She  is  not  the  only  one  who  has  known  torture." 

"  My  wife  may  never  come  back,"  said  Craighead, 
slowly.  He  had  not  intended  to  speak  the  words  ;  they 
came  of  themselves. 

Orchid  turned  breathlessly.  "  Do  you  mean  it  ?  Was 
/  the  cause  ?  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  say  !  Tell  me, 
is  it  true  ?  " 

"  You  were  not  the  sole  cause,"  Craighead  answered 
in  the  same  reluctant,  enforced  way.  "  You  merely 
hastened  the  crisis.  The  ostensible  issue  was  based  on 
the  question  of  her  uncle's  will." 

"  Why,  —  did  n't  you  put  the  money  in  her  name  ?  " 

"  She  wishes  to  throw  it  over  altogether,  and  gives  me 
the  choice  between  herself  and  the  fortune." 

Orchid  turned  her  face  away,  and  for  some  moments 
appeared  to  be  struggling  with  conflicting  thoughts. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  say  that  she  wants  to  relin- 
quish her  entire  fortune  ?  What  reason  does  she  give  ? 
Is  she  demented?" 

"  Most  people  will  think  so,"  said  Craighead,  gloomily, 
in  answer  to  the  last  question.  "  But  she  is  sane  enough, 
and  utterly  convinced  that  her  standpoint  is  the  only 
one." 

"  But  what  can  be  her  standpoint  ?  I  never  heard  of 
anything  so  preposterous  —  unless  —  yes  —  it  must  be  ! 
—  that  she  is  trying  to  subjugate  and  humiliate  you.  It 
is  a  piece  of  colossal  vanity  1 " 


344  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  matter  of  principle,  and  arises 
from  the  fact  that  her  great-uncle,  whose  fortune  it  was, 
fought  against  the  South.  She  calls  it  '  blood-money.' 
The  whole  thing  is  utterly  preposterous,  I  '11  admit,  but 
she  is  absolutely  honest  in  her  view." 

"  Where  have  been  her  scruples  during  the  past  year  ?  " 

"  She  has  endeavored  to  reason  herself  out  of  them,  she 
says ;  but  a  point  has  now  been  reached  where  she  can 
endure  it  no  longer." 

"  But  she  did  n't  attempt  to  force  an  issue  until  after 
her  talk  with  me  ?  " 

"No." 

Orchid's  face  had  been  steadily  growing  more  keen, 
arid  shrewd,  and  hard.  She  gave  a  contemptuous  laugh, 
and  burst  out :  — 

"  Van  Craighead,  —  are  you  a  lawyer  to  be  taken  in 
with  such  puerile  artifice  as  this  ?  It  is  pique,  I  tell  you, 
—  nothing  else  1  She  is  not  even  sincere.  It  is  a  trial,  — 
a  test,  — a  — punishment" 

Craighead  flushed  angrily.     "  The  money  is  her  loss." 

"  What  does  she  care  for  money  in  comparison  with 
the  sweet  satisfaction  of  humbling  you  !  Probably  she 
prefers  her  half-civilized,  vegetable  existence  in  the 
South,  and  would  drag  you  to  it  if  she  could.  You  — 
who  ought  to  be  an  Emperor  !  "  She  gloated  upon  him 
with  eyes  that  swam  in  adoration. 

Craighead's  nostrils  quivered.  "  You  underestimate 
her  nobility  and  her  strength,  Mrs.  Wiley." 

"  There  your  folly,  not  my  madness,  speaks !  Oh, 
Van,  this  is  a  crisis  in  your  life,  —  in  all  our  lives  I  Do 
not  delude  yourself  now,  when  delusion  is  so  fearfully 
fatal !  You  have  always  been  clear  of  sight  before.  I  tell 
you  I  know  her  real  motives.  It  takes  a  woman  to 
understand  a  woman ! " 

Craighead  turned  on  her.  "  You  are  fond  of  analyzing 
the  motives  of  others.  Are  you  sure  of  your  own  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Orchid,  steadily.  "  If  I  saw  my  humblest 
acquaintance  nodding  over  a  charcoal  pot,  I  would  try  to 
draw  him  away.  And  you  —  you — Oh !  For  the  world's 


LAST    GRIN    OF    THE    BUDDHA      345 

sake,  if  not  my  own,  I  must  save  you  from  this  mental 
asphyxiation.  There  is  no  height  to  which  you  cannot 
aspire.  The  President's  chair  could  be  your  footstool. 
You  should  make  empires,  create  universes,  —  fire  the 
dusty  heaps  of  the  past  with  a  glow  that  will  light  the 
remotest  corners  of  the  world's  future  !  No  one  knows 
your  power  as  I,  and  —  now,"  she  threw  out  both  hands 
with  a  dramatic  gesture,  "  am  I  to  stand  by  helpless,  and 
see  you  — punished  ?  " 

Craighead's  face  was  like  wax.  A  fearful  power  of 
concentration  burned  in  his  dark  eyes.  "  You  goad  well, 
Orchid.  But  a  few  trifling  aspects  are  still  to  be  taken 
into  consideration,  —  honor,  for  instance  ;  faith  to  two 
helpless  women,  and  that  less  tangible  essence  —  self- 
respect." 

"  Does  a  tame  poodle  need  self-respect  ? "  she  said 
bitterly. 

The  insolence  of  the  tone,  rather  than  the  words,  came 
like  the  lash  of  a  whip  across  Craighead's  face,  but  the 
pain  steadied  him.  On  each  temple  stood  out  a  rough 
"  V  "  of  purple  veins.  He  felt  them  as  burning  scars. 
The  ghastly  pallor  deepened. 

"  Let  us  be  clear,  then.  You,  in  my  place,  would  feel 
justified  in  accepting  freedom  and  fortune  from  that 
young  girl,  not  yet  twenty  years  of  age,  without  a 
scruple  or  qualm  as  to  the  effect  on  her  future  life  ?" 

"  A  stone  in  a  king's  path  must  be  kicked  aside.  It  is 
free  to  gather  moss  elsewhere  !  Perhaps  the  chivalrous 
Quincy  —  " 

He  stopped  her  with  a  gesture.  "  Leave  something  to 
decency !  "  he  said  darkly.  "  We  will  keep  to  the  main 
issue,  if  you  please.  Now,  taking  for  granted  that  I  have 
acted  on  your  advice,  that  I  am  legally  free,  and  that 
technicalities  could  be  managed,  —  that  you  have  lost 
no  confidence  in  me  or  respect  for  me,  —  would  it  then 
be  your  desire  to  become  Truth's  successor?" 

The  question  came  so  unexpectedly  that  Orchid's 
breath  was  taken  away.  She  gasped  and  stared  as 
though  in  doubt  of  her  senses;  then  she  let  her  eyes 


346  TRUTH    DEXTER 

fall,  and  a  slow,  painful  blush  suffused  her  throat  and 
brow. 

"  Why  —  what  do  you  mean  ? "  she  stammered. 
"What  has  that  to  do 'with  it?" 

"  Everything !  On  this  one  point  may  hang  life  and 
death.  You  have  assured  me  many  times  that  you  cared 
for  me  as  you  could  never  care  for  another  man.  You 
have  said  it  again  to-night.  You  cannot  pretend  concern 
for  conventionalities.  I  ask  you,  now,  Orchid,  the  direct 
question,  —  should  I  agree  to  accept  the  freedom  that 
might  be  mine  for  the  taking,  would  you  pledge  yourself 
both  by  words  and  in  writing  to  marry  me  as  soon  as 
I  might  desire  ?  Answer  me,  Orchid  !  Don't  blench  and 
cower !  Where  is  your  superb  vehemence  of  a  moment 
ago  ?  It  must  be  yes  or  no." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  force  a  decision  at  such  a  time  1 " 
she  cried.  "  It  is  unworthy  of  you,  —  cruel !  —  " 

"Is  it 'No'?" 

"  Certainly  not !     Give  me  time  to  think  I  " 

"  That  is  the  one  thing  I  will  not  give.     Is  it '  Yes '  ?  " 

"  It  is  not ! "  she  exclaimed  with  a  flash  of  defiance. 
"  I  will  not  be  bullied  ! " 

Craighead  gave  a  hoarse,  unnatural  laugh,  and  threw 
one  palm  to  his  forehead.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  that 
he  was  about  to  break  into  sobs.  "  God !  But  the  edge 
of  the  axe  was  cold !  What  a  risk !  How  did  I  take  it ! ' 

Orchid  fell  listlessly  into  a  chair.  She  knew  that  she 
had  failed,  with  success  at  her  very  feet,  —  yet,  had  she 
really  wished  success  ?  Craighead  stood  by  the  mantel, 
ejaculating,  and  talking  to  himself  like  a  madman. 
Orchid  regained  self-control  slowly,  and,  wrapping  her- 
self in  the  tattered  fragments  of  her  self-esteem  as  the 
tragedy-queen  of  a  tenth-rate  company  in  her  tarnished 
cloak,  said  haughtily :  — 

"  Am  I  to  infer  that  I  have  been  again  an  object  of 
vivisection  ?  Experiment  seems  to  be  your  forte." 

"  This  is  the  most  terrific  I  have  ever  passed  through," 
said  Craighead,  wiping  his  brow.  "  Thank  God,  you 
failed  in  the  test  1 " 


LAST    GRIN    OF    THE    BUDDHA      347 

"Refusal  to  be  bullied  is  not  failure." 

"  It  is  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  One  tests  a  metal 
while  the  fire  is  hot.  Twice  I  have  tested  you,  and 
twice  you  have  failed.  In  both  cases  my  part  has  been 
an  enforced  and  contemptible  one ;  and  I  thank  Heaven 
more  for  your  sake  than  my  own  that  you  have  failed." 

Orchid's  next  remark  was  a  surprise.  "  I  don't  know 
but  that  it  is  a  good  deal  more  comfortable  to  have  these 
fireworks  over  once  for  all.  Dodging  sticks  is  n't  pleas- 
ant. Suppose  we  change  the  subject." 

Craighead  seated  himself.  "  Orchid,"  he  said  sol- 
emnly, "  I  feel  like  a  toper  who  has  signed  the  temper- 
ance pledge  in  a  nightmare,  and  wakes  to  find  himself 
reformed,  and  his  whiskey-soaked  rags  turned  to  fringe 
and  spangles.  I  could  walk  a  tight-rope  down  the  length 
of  Commonwealth  Avenue  ! "  This  being  the  only  known 
effort  on  Van's  part  to  be  humorous,  it  is  worthy  of 
record. 

But  Orchid  did  not  smile  or  reply.  She  was  staring 
moodily  into  the  fire.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  something  ?  " 
she  said,  after  a  long  pause. 

"  If  you  please." 

"  You  are  not  half  so  unworldly  and  high-minded  as 
you  think.  The  whole  matter  with  you  is  that  you 
love  your  wife  ?  I  knew  it  at  Ponkatuck  last  summer, 
though  at  that  time  you  had  no  suspicion  of  the  truth." 

"  Thanks  I     Now,  shall  I  tell  you  something  ?  " 

"  As  you  please." 

"  You  are  not  half  so  worldly  and  recklessly  romantic 
as  you  think.  That  letter  which  you  showed  me  on  the 
beach  at  Ponkatuck  last  summer  was  not  the  one  you 
sent  to  Dexterville." 

"  Now  how  did  you  know  that?  "  said  Orchid. 

"  I  suspected  it  from  the  first,  but  was  n't  certain 
until  to-night." 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  your  new  state  of  enlighten- 
ment. The  one  I  sent  to  Dexterville  was  far  more  flip- 
pant, and  did  n't  contain  a  word  of  love.  The  second 
was  concocted  for  a  special  purpose." 


348  TRUTH    DEXTER 

"  You  are  clever  beyond  belief." 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  the  first  ?  " 

"  No.  Burn  it !  Let  us  have  done  with  all  hypocrisies ! 
Your  better  self  is  coming  in  on  the  home-stretch  after 
this,  and  I  shall  be  the  first  to  throw  up  my  hat." 

"  If  you  had  ever  really  cared  for  me,  my  better  self 
might  seem  a  little  tame."  Her  tone  was  wistful. 

"  Come,  now,  Orchid !  Be  honest !  You  never  really 
cared  for  me,  either.  It  was  simply  that  I  was  out  of 
reach,  and  you  did  n't  want  another  woman  to  get  ahead 
of  you." 

"Perhaps  it  was.  Yet  I  do  think  that  you  could 
make  almost  anything  out  of  yourself  under  the  proper 
conditions." 

"  Ah,  Cassandra,  you  don't  know  me  if  you  think  that 
the  conditions  could  include  treacherous  desertion  of 
those  two  women !  Apart  from  Truth,  I  am  sincerely 
attached  to  Mrs.  Dexter." 

"  Then  you  will  go  back  and  —  submit  ?  " 

"  I  shall  go  back  and  —  submit." 

Orchid  sighed.  "I  can  see  you  in  my  mind's  eye, 
ambling  toward  a  contented  old  age  of  slippers  and 
sweetened  mush ;  shedding  your  ideals  with  your  hair, 
and  waxing  eloquent  only  on  the  virtues  of  your  eldest- 
born." 

Craighead  laughed.  "  Surely  that  is  better  than  sham- 
bling along  the  filthy  lanes  of  political  preferment." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Orchid  with  a  shrug,  "  if  it  were  a 
necessity  for  you  to  '  shamble.'  I  had  pictured  you 
flying.  One  does  not  like  to  think  of  an  eagle  in  a 
henhouse." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  I  can  sun  myself  on  the  top  of  the  coop 
once  in  a  while,"  rejoined  her  companion.  Both  were 
silent  for  quite  a  space ;  then  Craighead  said,  — 

"  Orchid,  do  you  feel  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
you  ever  to  be  friends  with  Truth  ?  " 

Orchid  started  at  the  question.  "Yes,  utterly  im- 
possible !  I  could  never  endure  that  solemn  stare  of 
hers.  It  is  like  looking  into  the  eyes  of  a  child,  and  I 


was  always  deathly  afraid  of  children.     Parental  joy  is 
not  in  my  line  1 " 

"You  will  marry  again,  some  day." 

"  Probably,  but  not  in  Boston.  I  am  beginning  to 
loathe  the  place  !  And  as  for  this  room  —  She  broke 
off  with  gestures  of  disgust. 

"  The  room  is  exactly  like  its  mistress,  Orchid,  —  bril- 
liant, beautiful,  and  unrestful." 

"I  think  I  hate  the  Buddha  most  of  all,"  she  went  on, 
petulantly.  "  Look  at  him  now,  with  his  sleek  body  and 
oily  grin !  If  only  he  would  make  faces,  or  open  those 
pulpy  eyelids  the  millionth  part  of  an  inch,  or  —  give  a 
twiddle  to  his  thumbs,  I  could  endure  him !  But  that 
maddening  grin  !  Well,  it  is  his  last.  He  goes  to  the 
auction-rooms  to-morrow." 

"Do  you  mean  it?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  to  sell  out  everything.  I  have  given 
all  my  gowns  to  my  maid,  with  the  threat  that  should 
she  wear  one  of  them  in  my  presence,  it  means  instant 
dismissal." 

Craighead  rose  to  his  feet.  "  What  a  break-up  for  you, 
to  be  sure  1  You  can't  let  all  the  past  go  without  a  pang. 
Neither  can  I,"  he  sighed.  "  I  must  be  going.  It  is  very 
late.  How  shall  we  say  'good-bye,'  Orchid?" 

She  rose  also,  and  coming  close  to  him,  suddenly  laid 
her  head  against  his  arm.  "  Oh,  Van,"  she  said  pite- 
ously,  "  I  am  so  tired  of  everything,  —  myself  most  of 
all!  Maybe  I  have  cared  for  you  more  than  either  of 
us  knows.  You  will  be  happy — and — forget,  but  I 
shall  never  be  happy!" 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his ;  the  motion  withdrew 
his  arm.  "  If  you  are  not  happy,  no  one  is  to  blame 
but  yourself,"  he  said  kindly.  "You  have  more  than 
any  woman  I  know,  —  wealth,  youth,  beauty,  talent, 
charm  —  " 

" Oh,  yes,"  she  broke  in.  "I  say  all  those  to  myself, 
but  I  might  as  well  be  repeating  'x,  y,  and  z.'  The 
equation  is  lacking.  I  can't  really  be  anj'thing,  not 
even  a  villain,  though  I  have  tried.  Will  you  say  to 
your  wife  that  I  regret  my  cruelty?" 


S50 

Van  gave  a  tender,  surprised  smile.     "  Orchid !  " 

She  shivered  slightly  and  turned  her  face  away. 
"Never  mind  all  that!  It  doesn't  atone  for  much." 

"  It  atones  for  everything  !  "  cried  he.  "  I  always 
knew  you  had  fine  instincts.  You  have  given  me  a 
happy  memory  to  carry  away." 

"  Go,  then,  before  I  mar  it !  This  is  *  good-bye,' 
indeed." 

"  Good-bye !  and  Ion  voyage,  should  I  not  see  you 
again.  I  may  be  called  away  within  a  few  days." 

She  held  him  by  the  hands,  drawing  him  slightly 
toward  her,  and  gazing  with  mysterious  intentness  into 
his  eyes.  "  Good-bye !  Don't  you  dare  to  pity  me  !  It 
is  true  that  I  never  really  cared." 

She  heard  him  pass  into  the  outer  hall,  and  go  slowly 
down  the  steps.  She  leaned  forward,  listening  intently 
for  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  on  the  hard  pavement. 
They  came,  clear,  firm,  and  regular  as  the  marching  of  a 
soldier.  She  drew  breath  quickly,  threw  her  head  back, 
and  walked  over  to  the  Buddha.  "  You  grinning  horror! " 
she  whispered,  and  struck  it  violently  on  the  mouth. 

James  came  running  in  at  the  sound  of  the  crash. 
"  Oh !  the  hidol !  the  hidol !  "  he  cried.  "  Now  'ow  in 
creashun  could  he  'a'  wobbled  hisself  offer  that  table  ?  " 

"  He  smiled  himself  into  an  attack  of  vertigo,"  ex- 
plained Orchid,  gravely,  and  then,  to  the  horror  of 
James,  went  off  into  peals  of  laughter.  "No,  don't 
put  him  back  on  the  pedestal;  take  him  out  into  the 
stable,  or  the  kitchen,  or  anywhere  where  I  shall  never 
see  him  again ! " 

"  'Is  nose  is  most  flattened  into  'is  skull,"  said  James, 
reproachfully. 

"  That  will  add  fifty  dollars  to  his  antiquity." 

James  tenderly  lifted  the  fallen  idol,  and  bore  him 
from  the  room.  At  sight  of  the  smirking,  flat  face 
over  the  footman's  shoulder,  Orchid  went  into  new 
paroxysms  of  mirth. 

James  deposited  the  image  on  the  kitchen  table  un- 
mindful of  ejaculations  from  the  cook.  He  mopped  his 


LAST    GRIN    OF    THE    BUDDHA     551 

brow  with  a  large,  black-bordered  handkerchief,  and  mut- 
tered loudly, "  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  it,  —  I  say,  I  don't 
like  the  looks  of  it  1 " 

"  God  knows,  ye  ain't  the  only  one ! "  said  the  cook, 
grimly.  "  What  in  land's  sake  do  you  bring  the  grinnin' 
'eathen  into  my  kitchen  for,  I  'd  be  pleased  to  know  ?  " 

"I  don't  like  the  looks  of  it!"  repeated  James. 
"  '  Take  'im  into  the  kitchen,'  she  says,  '  or  the  stables,' 
she  says,  '  or  anywhere  where  I  '11  not  clap  eyes  on  'im 
agin,'  she  says ;  and  then  goes  hoff  into  shriekin' 
'isterics ! " 

Orchid's  maid  entered  in  time  to  hear  this  remark. 

"  /  'w  not  took  aback  at  anything,  now,"  she  volun- 
teered. "  These  '  swells,'  as  they  calls  theyselves,  are  all 
of  a  piece,  half-cracked,  /  call  'em !  " 

Meanwhile  Orchid,  in  the  drawing-room,  had  crept 
into  the  chair  so  lately  occupied  by  Van,  and  was  crying 
herself  to  sleep. 


Craighead  hurried  up  Beacon  Street  in  the  direction  of 
the  Hanover,  looking  about  as  he  went  for  a  telegraph 
office.  All  the  small  ones  were  closed  for  the  night. 
He  boarded  a  late  car  and  went  down  into  the  city  again, 
preferring  not  to  send  a  domestic  message  through  any  of 
the  hotels  or  apartment  houses  in  a  neighborhood  where 
he  was  well  known.  He  went  to  the  main  office  of  the 
Parker  House,  and  despatched  the  following :  "  Have 
decided  as  you  wish.  Shall  I  come  ?  Van." 

The  long  distance  back  to  the  Hanover  was  taken  on 
foot.  He  was  glad  of  the  exercise,  the  cold  night  air,  the 
March  wind.  The  sky  was  very  clear,  and  stars  winked 
and  blinked  in  flocks.  He  looked  up  toward  them  think- 
ing of  a  characteristic  speech  that  Truth  once  had  made. 
"Do  you  call  those  hard  little  things  stars  f"  she  had 
cried.  "  They  make  me  think  of  Jew's  eyes  over  a  bar- 
gain-counter. They  are  not  even  kin  to  those  soft,  glori- 
ous lights  of  ours. in  the  South."  To  Van,  now,  they 
seemed  hard,  and  cold,  and  keen.  Other  phenomena  than 


352  TRUTH    DEXTER 

stars  were  becoming  illuminated  by  Truth's  original 
points  of  view. 

He  felt  a  sudden  longing  to  see  Truth,  and  his  heart 
warmed  too  toward  Orchid.  "  She  is  a  superb  little 
woman,"  he  said  to  himself,  of  the  latter.  "  I  believe  the 
good  in  her  will  triumph  in  the  end,  but  even  at  her  best 
she  would  have  worn  me  to  a  nervous  thread.  Truth  is 
the  sort  of  wife  I  need.  Poor  little  Orchid  1  I  wonder 
whether  she  ever  did  really  care  for  me  ?  " 

Entering  his  suite  at  the  Hanover,  he  stumbled  over  a 
thick  letter  that  had  been  thrust,  with  difficulty,  under 
the  door.  An  instinct  told  him  that  it  was  from  Truth, 
and  he  felt  a  twinge  of  disappointment  upon  recognizing 
Mrs.  Dexter's  thin  handwriting. 

As  the  letter  seemed  to  be  unusually  long,  he  decided 
to  make  himself  comfortable  in  slippers  and  smoking- 
jacket  before  reading  it.  He  smiled,  thinking  of  what 
Orchid  had  said  of  slippers.  A  cigar  lighted,  the  lamp 
adjusted,  and  his  big  easy-chair  drawn  up  at  the  right 
angle,  Craighead  prepared  to  read. 

As  he  reached  the  full  significance  of  Mrs.  Dexter's 
vaguely  delicate  and  often  ambiguous  sentences,  he  gave 
a  low  cry,  sprang  from  his  chair,  and  began  pacing  the 
floor.  In  a  moment,  however,  the  letter  was  resumed. 

He  read  the  last  word,  and  refolded  the  letter  with  a 
strange  smile.  Then  he  leaned  over  to  one  of  the  desk 
drawers,  drew  out  the  half-finished  communication  to 
Truth,  and  began  tearing  it  into  shreds.  Truth's  Paris 
photograph  seemed  to  nod  at  him  from  the  desk.  But 
something  else  was  needed, — what  was  it?  Suddenly 
the  thought  came.  From  a  small  secret  drawer  he  took 
another  photograph,  this  time  the  face  that  he  called 
"  Jeanne  d'Arc."  He  held  it  under  the  light  until  the 
shaking  of  his  hands  blurred  the  sweet  outlines.  Then 
he  placed  it  upright  against  a  pile  of  books,  still  in  the 
full  light,  and  stared  on,  silently. 

Was  there  ever  a  sweeter  face  ?  —  one  more  noble,  or 
pure  ?  She  was  only  a  child  yet,  and  to  think  —  to 
think  — !  What  must  she  have  suffered  all  those  days  I 


LAST    GRIN    OF    THE    BUDDHA      353 

Craighead  thanked  God  that  he  had  not  been  more  im- 
patient. A  tiny  rainbow  came  between  him  and  the  pic- 
ture. He  knew  it  for  a  tear  upon  his  lashes.  Brushing 
it  away,  he  leaned  nearer,  and  said  aloud,  "  Little  girl ! 
I  was  not  going  to  give  you  up,  even  without  —  this  I  " 


23 


CHAPTER  XXX 

CONCLUSION 

Six  months  had  passed.  On  the  gray  walls  of  Trinity 
Church  ivy  had  again  changed  from  emerald  to  bronze ; 
and  the  elm  trees  on  the  Common  again  bore  sparrows 
in  lieu  of  leaves. 

In  the  South,  the  country  roadsides  blazed  with  golden- 
rod  and  purple  iron-weed;  the  great  forest  about  the 
Big  House  had  entered  upon  that  iridescent  drowsiness 
which  heralds  winter  sleep.  Blossoms  had  fallen  and 
fruit  was  being  stored,  —  yet  Craighead  had  not  seen  his 
young  wife  face  to  face. 

In  answer  to  the  telegram  sent  so  long  before,  she  had 
returned  the  message :  "  Thank  you  with  all  my  heart. 
We  are  very  happy.  But  do  not  come;  wait  for  my 
letter." 

What  a  letter  that  had  been !  Gratitude,  pride,  humil- 
ity, passion,  shyness,  love,  —  all  emotions  of  which  a 
proud,  sweet,  unspoiled  woman  could  be  capable, 
crowded,  like  luminous  flowers,  into  the  garden  of  that 
single  cry. 

"My  whole  lifetime  will  be  too  short  to  prove  my 
love,"  she  wrote.  "  Perhaps  if  I  had  a  thousand  lives, 
each  melted  into  a  single  day  and  each  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  love  for  you,  it  would  do  for  a  beginning. 
Oh,  but  I  shall  be  so  good  !  So  careful  of  your  wishes ! 
I  don't  believe  I  can  ever  have  another  sad  thought. 
But  now  I  am  ashamed,  for,  even  while  thanking  you 
for  your  glorious  nobility,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  still 
another  favor.  It  will  seem  a  strange  one  to  you,  I  fear, 
but  it  is  very  real  to  me.  I  want  you  to  let  me  stay 


CONCLUSION  355 

in  the  South  quietly,  just  with  grandma,  until  —  Octo- 
ber. I  know  that  we  Southern  girls  are  brought  up  in 
foolish  reticence  and  modesty,  but  the  feeling  is  in  my 
blood  and  bones,  and  I  cannot  give  it  up  all  at  once. 
Oh,  you  can't  imagine  how  I  shrink  from  seeing  any 
one  but  grandma,  —  even  with  her  I  am  sometimes  con- 
fused. I  should  die  of  shame  in  meeting  even  you,  my 
dear,  noble  husband  that  I  love  more  than  any  woman 
ever  loved  her  husband  before.  This  will  not  make 
you  doubt  my  love,  I  know.  This  is  my  strong, 
earnest  wish,  almost  my  prayer;  but  even  in  this,  if 
you  feel  very  strongly,  I  will  fight  down  my  feelings, 
and  come  back  to  you  in  Boston.  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing of  the  heavenly  sweetness  it  would  be  to  meet  you 
for  the  first  time,  here,  —  when  I  am  well  and  strong 
again.  The  fear  of  losing  you  has  made  me  see 
how  precious  you  were.  I  will  do  everything  as 
you  say." 

Craighead  frowned  as  he  read  this  unique  proposition, 
but  under  the  shadow  of  the  frown  a  smile  flashed  forth. 
Truth's  Jeanne  d'Arc  picture  was,  at  this  time,  never 
absent  from  his  desk.  At  this  he  glanced  as  he  said, 
aloud,  "  You  are  a  strange,  silly,  charming  little  woman, 
and  I  guess  you  are  going  to  get  things  about  as  you 
want  them." 

A  week  later  he  saw  Mrs.  Wiley's  name  on  the  pas- 
senger list  of  a  New  York  steamer,  and  knew  that  she 
was  passing  out  of  his  life  forever. 

Some  time  after,  while  writing  to  Truth  on  the  sub- 
ject of  her  uncle's  will,  he  received  the  following  an- 
swer :  "  We  rely  on  your  advice  in  this  as  in  everything. 
But  grandma  and  I  have  talked  it  over  a  good  deal,  and 
we  thought,  perhaps  the  best  thing  would  be  to  build 
and  endow  a  big  Home  for  veterans  of  the  Civil  War, 
and  let  both  sides  be  equally  welcomed.  It  might  stand 
on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac  River.  I  should  love  to 
go  to  it  and  see  that  the  soldiers  had  every  comfort,  and, 
because  I  love  you  so  dearly,  I  shall  feel  no  different  to 
the  Northern  soldiers  from  the  Southern.  We  should 


356  TRUTH    DEXTER 

have  just  the  same  number  of  each,  and  I  think  they 
would  enjoy  themselves  fighting  over  old  battles  in 
memory.  What  do  you  think  of  this  for  a  plan? 
Grandma  is  eager  for  it,  and  already  talks  of  putting  up 
unlimited  supplies  of  fig  and  watermelon-rind  preserves 
this  summer,  to  be  used  there.  Oh,  if  you  could  only 
see  grandma  now  that  this  nightmare  of  money  is  taken 
from  her  1  Both  of  us  are  perfectly,  entirely,  absolutely 
happy.  I  have  found  that  sewing  can  be  more  fasci- 
nating than  the  most  inspiring  lectures.  And  this  is  all 
because  of  your  great  nobility. " 

Van  agreed,  tentatively,  to  the  plan,  but  said  that  it 
must  wait  for  actual  commencement  of  operation  until 
they  could  all  be  together,  and  work  out  details.  The 
money  was  put  into  the  hands  of  trustees,  with  income 
to  accumulate  for  the  present.  The  checks  that  he  now 
sent  Truth  were  all  from  his  own  earnings,  and  he  fell 
into  the  way  of  making  a  playful  statement  as  to  the 
derivation  of  each  sum.  "  Enclosed  please  find  a  check 
for  a  hundred  dollars,  being  payment  in  full  to  Van  der 
Weyde  Craighead,  barrister,  from  Josiah  T.  Quail,  for 
services  rendered.  N.B.  The  service  was  rescuing  him 
from  a  night  in  jail." 

With  another  fifty  dollars  he  wrote  :  "  Payment  in  full 
for  the  drawing  up  of  a  last  will  and  testament  of  G. 
Milton  Trashbasket ;  a  professional  poet,  with  nothing  to 
leave  but  pencil  ends  and  rejected  MSS." 

If  Craighead  lost,  during  this  interval,  in  the  compan- 
ionship of  his  wife,  he  gained  an  unlooked-for  harvest  in 
her  letters.  These  were  all  written  in  her  quiet  evening 
hours,  her  "holy  time,"  as  she  called  it;  and  came  as 
regularly  as  the  day.  In  them  he  was  often  startled  by 
flashes  of  rich  imagery,  insight  into  the  deepest  problems 
of  human  existence,  and,  above  all,  by  cleaving  expres- 
sions of  love  for  himself.  The  pure,  simple  home-life  of 
the  two  women  unfolded  before  him  as  a  new  and  ex- 
quisite species  of  life.  Truth  told  him  of  her  garden, 
her  thoughts,  and  of  the  books  that  she  and  her  grand- 
mother took  turns  in  reading  aloud  as  the  other  sewed. 


CONCLUSION  357 

Once  in  a  great  while  she  hinted  of  the  progress  she  was 
making  on  a  certain  important  outfit.  "  As  I  sit  by  the 
table,  writing,  the  bed  beside  me  is  full  of  little  clothes. 
Each  one  is  a  chrysalis  woven  more  of  love  than  visible 
fibres.  Almost  every  night  I  take  them  out  this  way,  so 
that  I  can  see  them  all.  I  am  not  used  to  the  wonder 
of  them  yet,  and,  often,  when  I  have  been  gloating  over 
them,  half-frightened  by  the  beating  of  my  own  heart,  I 
must  fall  on  my  knees  to  kiss  each  one  again,  to  hold 
out  the  unbelievable  little  sleeves,  to  thank  God,  and 
whisper  your  dear  name.  Oh,  Van,  Van?  I  pity  you 
for  being  a  man !  " 

It  was,  indeed,  a  time  of  brooding  sweetness  in  the 
Big  House.  The  acute  sorrow  of  the  Colonel's  death 
had  melted  into  a  softer  memory.  Mrs.  Dexter  once  said 
to  Truth  :  "  I  cannot  even  wish  him  back  again.  It  is 
the  sunshine  of  his  blessed  presence  that  is  over  us  all. 
Why  should  I  demand  the  earthly  part?  For  that  dread- 
ful year  while  we  used  the  money  I  was  afraid  to  meet 
him,  even  in  dreams,  but  now  I  sleep  again,  by  his 
side." 

One  of  Craighead's  letters  written  in  September  deep- 
ened in  Truth  a  joy  that  already,  at  times,  seemed  too 
great  to  be  endured.  "  While  my  little  wife  spins  and 
weaves  in  her  South,  it  behooves  the  head  of  the  family 
to  be  seeking  out  a  sheltered  nook  in  his  colder  clime. 
Shall  I  be  shamed  by  mocking-birds  ?  In  pursuance 
of  this,  my  plain  duty,  I  have  been  spending  a  day 
looking  at  houses  in  Brookline,  and  have  secured  the 
refusal  of  a  charming  new  cottage,  which  has  not  only 
sufficient  ground  for  a  whole  Dutch  colony  of  bulbs, 
and  many  winding  walks  for  toddling  feet,  but  actually 
a  wellspring  of  its  own,  and  a  tiny  birch  forest  which 
will  please  some  one  I  know  more  than  a  little.  I  must 
give  my  answer  by  the  end  of  three  days.  Shall  it  be 
'  Yes  '  ?  or  does  that  some  one  prefer  the  grandeur  of  the 
Hanover  ?  " 

Thus  the  blessed  months  slipped  by.  Magnolia  blos- 
soms stood,  like  ivory  chalices  upon  the  enamelled  altars 


358  TRUTH    DEXTER 

of  their  boughs,  then  fell  away  into  tarnished  petals, 
leaving  spiky  burrs  from  which,  in  time,  oozed  seeds 
like  drops  of  clotted  blood  to  hang,  suspended  at  inter- 
vals, from  threads  of  invisible  silk.  The  yellow  flowers 
of  the  "  rattle-box "  changed  into  small,  translucent 
bladders,  each  loosely  filled  with  black  atoms  of  seed. 
Along  the  creekside  ripe  whortleberries  tantalized  hun- 
gry assemblies  of  minnows,  and  on  the  hills  brown 
"chinkapins"  twinkled  as  brightly  as  the  squirrel's 
eyes  which  sought  them  out.  Harvest  time  was  at 
hand,  and  the  wood  responded  to  the  immemorial 
cry ;  in  the  Big  House  (itself  an  adaptation  of  forest 
trees),  one  of  God's  creatures  waited  for  her  hour  of 
fruition. 

At  last  it  came,  a  fiery  Nessus  garb  of  agony,  which, 
being  endured,  cooled  into  the  white  robe  of  mother- 
hood. 

Truth  lay  on  her  bed,  pale  as  the  last  honeysuckles 
that  crowded  at  her  window,  and  more  sweet.  The 
physician  was  long  gone,  and  the  siege  of  pain  forgotten 
in  the  first  mother's  ecstatic  cry,  "  I  have  gotten  a  man 
from  the  Lord !  " 

Aunt  Big  Mary,  being  celebrated  for  skill  and  knowl- 
edge in  such  crises,  had  been  transferred  from  kitchen 
to  sick-room,  and  now  sat,  small  in  person  but  imposing 
in  dignity,  by  the  low  fire  of  pine-knots.  A  greenish 
concoction  in  a  small  "  granite  "  saucepan,  simmered  on 
the  hearth,  and  gave  out  a  pleasant  odor  of  herbs,  which 
mingled  in  natural  affinity  with  other  prevalent  and 
characteristic  smells,  —  soap,  damp  flannel,  and  violet- 
powder.  Truth's  eyes  had  been  carefully  shielded  from 
the  fire,  but  they  did  not  need  external  light.  They 
were  fixed,  as  it  were,  upon  some  vision  of  rapture 
dawning  for  her  alone ;  a  heavenly  smile  was  set  on  her 
lips,  and  she  seemed  to  listen  to  music.  Indeed,  any  in- 
tent ear  could  have  heard  the  same  sound,  a  weak,  thin, 
irregular  breathing  that  rose  from  a  cocoon  of  white 
flannel  close  against  her  arm.  What  a  sound  is  that  1 


CONCLUSION  359 

Not  all  the  trumpeting  of  earth's  victorious  armies  is 
more  mighty,  or  the  song  of  dying  violets  more  sweet ! 
The  first  cry  may  torture  and  tear  the  heart  with  mem- 
ories of  a  thousand  vanished  pangs  of  motherhood,  but 
the  rhythm  of  the  sweet,  consenting  sleep  that  follows, 
—  that  is  the  true  music  of  the  spheres  ! 

Mrs.  Dexter  entered  on  tiptoe,  closing  the  door  with 
painful  care.  Unsoftened  by  the  precaution  Big  Mary 
frowned,  and  lifted  a  threatening  and  birdlike  hand. 
Her  beady  eyes  expressed  a  question.  Mrs.  Dexter 
must  have  understood,  for  she  nodded. 

The  nurse  stooped  for  one  more  stir  to  her  concoction 
on  the  hearth,  then  walked  toward  the  bed,  Mrs.  Dexter 
following  meekly,  and  stood  scowling  importantly  upon 
her  charges. 

"  How  is  you  now,  Miss  Troof  ?  "  she  demanded,  with 
a  sort  of  suppressed  ferocity  that  would  have  daunted 
the  uninitiated. 

"  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life  !  "  said  Truth.  "  I  am 
dying  to  take  him  down  into  the  garden  this  minute  and 
show  him  to  the  roses !  " 

The  cocoon  stirred,  groaned,  and  then  sneezed,  as  if  in 
indignation.  "  Bress  his  heart !  "  cried  the  nurse,  her 
stately  manner  melting  like  wax  before  that  sound,  "  did 
dey  talk  about  takin'  hit  into  de  cold  world,  an'  hit 
skeercely  rested  fum  Heaven  ?  Nebber  min' !  Hit 's 
mammy  will  look  atter  her  lamb  1 "  She  turned  the 
bundle  over  to  the  other  side,  Truth  watching  the  opera- 
tion with  a  distressed  frown.  "  I  ain't  calkerlatin'  ter 
have  one  side  er  his  head  like  a  climbin'-squash  an'  de 
yother  like  a  hive  o'  bees,  ef  you  an'  Miss  Dolly  is  ! " 
she  said  indignantly,  in  answer  to  the  frown. 

Mrs.  Dexter  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  stole,  laugh- 
ing, from  the  room. 

Aunt  Big  Mary,  still  grumbling,  caught  up  a  bit  of 
flannel  here,  a  brush  there,  as  if  in  anticipation  of  a  guest ; 
but  before  Truth  had  time  to  wonder  the  door  opened 
again,  and  the  tall  figure  of  a  man  came  slowly  into  the 
firelight. 


360  TRUTH    DEXTER 

The  old  woman  put  a  hand  on  Truth's  chest.  "  Now, 
honey !  fer  God's  sake  — !  " 

Truth  flung  her  off.  "  It  is  Van ! "  she  cried  in  a  voice 
that  burst  through  the  shadows  like  a  star. 

She  heard  one  great  sob,  Aunt  Big  Mary  sped  from 
the  room,  and  Van  was  kneeling  by  the  bed,  weeping 
out  his  heart  on  his  young  wife's  pillow. 

An  hour  later,  when  the  baby  had  been  soothed  and 
apologized  to  for  the  unwarranted  disturbance,  Van  was 
allowed  to  come  in  again,  this  time  escorted  in  state  by 
Mrs.  Dexter. 

"Isn't  he  just  the  beautifullest  thing  you  ever  saw?" 
asked  Truth,  warily  elongating  the  tiny  aperture  at  the 
exposed  end  of  the  cocoon. 

"  I  have  n't  had  a  good  look  yet,"  responded  Van, 
evasively. 

"  Why,  here,  —  you  can  see  him  perfectly  !  There 's 
his  whole  face,  nose,  eyes,  mouth  and  all !  " 

"  I  presume  that  —  er  —  button  may  become  a  nose 
some  day ! " 

"  You  sha'n't  see  him  another  minute  !  "  said  Truth 
indignantly,  and  brought  the  edges  of  the  shawl  to- 
gether. 

"  Good  God  !  You  gwineter  smother  my  chile  !  " 
shrieked  Aunt  Big  Mary.  "  Miss  Troof,  you  ain't  got 
no  mo'  notion  er  takin'  keer  o'  dat  baby  dan  a  jay-bird 
has  o'  pickin'  his  teeth  !  " 

"  But,  Van,"  began  Truth,  when  the  disturbance  was 
quelled  and  the  nurse  pacified,  "  how  on  earth  did  you 
get  here?  How  did  you  —  know?"  Her  pale  face 
became  crimson. 

"  He 's  been  in  Montgomery  a  week  ! "  cried  Mrs. 
Dexter,  before  Van  could  answer. 

"  And  such  a  week !  "  groaned  Van.  "  I  read  enough 
magazines  and  trashy  novels  to  soften  the  brains  of 
Solon,  not  to  mention  the  strain  on  my  nerves." 

"  Oh,"  said  Truth  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  you  were  that 
near !  "  Her  pretty  confusion  deepened. 


CONCLUSION  361 

Van  laughed,  and  a  moment  after  drew  from  his 
pocket  several  yellow  envelopes.  "  Do  you  care  to  hear 
your  congratulations,  Mrs.  Craighead  ?  " 

"Congratulations  !  "  echoed  Truth.  "  Who  could  send 
them?  Does  anybody  else  know  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  !  What  do  you  expect?  A  man 
can't  keep  news  like  this  all  to  himself.  There  would 
be  danger  of  bursting ! " 

"  Well,  I  never ! "  ejaculated'  Truth,  and  lay  back  on 
her  pillow,  quite  exhausted.  Mrs.  Dexter  crept  to  the 
bedside,  and  held  Truth's  hand  while  the  messages  were 
being  read. 

"  Here 's  the  first,"  said  Van.  "  '  Drat  the  boy  I  How 's 
Truth?'" 

"  Father  I "  exclaimed  Truth.  "  Is  n't  it  exactly  like 
him?  That  one  does  n't  need  a  signature." 

"  None  of  them  do,  I  fancy,"  remarked  Van.  "  Here 's 
the  second,  '  Rah-rah-rah-Harvard !  Remember  that  I 
am  godfather  !  How  is  Truth  ?  ' ' 

"  Quin !  "  cried  Truth  with  shining  eyes. 

"  Now  who  sent  this  one  ?  '  God  bless  Truth  and  her 
boy  !  How  is  the  little  mother  ?  ' : 

"  My  dear,  dear  Mrs.  Adams  !  "  whispered  Truth,  her 
eyes  filling  with  tears. 

The  little  group  fell  into  silence.  Only  the  baby's  ir- 
regular breathing  marked  off  the  sweet,  flying  moments. 
The  sound  of  a  distant  whippoorwill,  twice  repeated, 
came  faintly,  like  the  echo  of  a  vanishing  regret. 

Mrs.  Dexter  roused  herself  with  a  start.  "Night  is 
coming  in !  You  have  had  too  much  excitement  for  one 
day,  already,  my  darling.  Now  we  must  leave  you  and 
the  little  one  to  Aunt  Mary." 

"  Oh,  just  one  moment !  "  pleaded  Truth.  "  Just  one, 
—  alone  with  Van." 

Mrs.  Dexter  looked  appealingly  toward  the  nurse. 
The  old  woman  nodded  grim  assent,  and  followed  her 
mistress  from  the  room.  The  two  stood,  whispering 
together  in  low  tones,  just  without  the  door. 


362  TRUTH    DEXTER 

Mra.  Dexter  did  not  look  into  Van's  face  as  he  came 
out,  but  before  she  knew  it  he  had  flung  both  arms  about 
her,  without  a  word,  and  was  straining  her  against  his 
breast. 

"  My  son !  "  she  whispered,  "  my  own,  dear  son !  " 

Night  came  down  over  the  Big  House,  and  darkness 
was  everywhere  except  in  the  wide,  softly  shaded  room 
where  slept  Truth  and  tke  cocoon. 


THE  END 


The  work  of  a  genius.     A  story  that  will  live 


THE  BREATH  OF 
THE  GODS 


By  SIDNEY  McCALL 
Author  of  "Truth  Dexter" 

12mo.  Cloth,  431  pages.  $1.50 


A  great  American  novel,  if  not  the  American  novel.  — 
New  Orleans  Times  Democrat. 

A  novel  that  has  the  real  Japan  in  it  as  has  no  other 
novel  ever  written  in  the  English  tongue.  —  Philadelphia 
Press. 

An  absorbing  love  story  that  throws  unusual  light  upon 
the  inner  life  of  Japan.  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

A  powerful  story  with  vivid  descriptions  and  a  thrilling 
and  unexpected  climax.  —  Boston  Herald. 

Strikes  an  unusual  note  and  will  live  beyond  the 
passing  hour.  —  St.  Paul  Pioneer  Press. 

A  masterly  delineation  of  men  and  women  caught  in 
the  swift  current  of  events.  —  Baltimore  Sun. 

Yuki  is  a  charming  characterization,  dainty,  exquisite, 
flowerlike,  and  fascinating. —  Chicago  Journal. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON 

At  all  Bookseller? 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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